One Last Dance
by Batmanskipper
Summary: One year after Like Father Like Son: To solve a kidnapping where he is the main suspect Skipper investigates the final time the first Private worked with Kowalski back in 1962: a tale of deadly alliances, long standing grudges, desperate opponents and broken hearts. Skipper will have some problems of his own however when secrets best left behind in the previous story come to light.
1. Balance of Power

**Ok, after a lot of infuriating writers block, I'm back. This chapter's going to be mostly introducing the tangled situation the first Kowalski and Private are going to get themselves caught up in so if it seems like not much is happening, that's why. A lot of this will also be relevant to the second half of the story as well.**

**A note about continuity: This is the third in a series starting with Do You Really Want to Know with the second, Like Father Like Son, set approximately one year before this one. It will be very difficult to understand One Last Dance without reading the previous two so I would recommend you read them ****in order**** beforehand. Otherwise many of the characters will seem OOC and I'll get a lot of questions about what happened to the first Skipper.**

**October 5****th****, 1976**

Skipper lay across the couch staring up at the ceiling. It might be 0300 hours but as Marlene, his fiancée, would testify it wasn't at all out of the ordinary. Originally he'd sat up in bed and tried to get some extra paper work done, but that always woke up Marlene and so he'd started coming out to the living room. But after he'd started doing that he'd found he wasn't able to do the paperwork and so would just stare up at the ceiling.

Kowalski, the first one, and Rico were both well and truly dead. He'd seen the bodies and his own Kowalski had matched the fingerprints to all existing copies on file – including some he'd rather mysteriously managed to procure from Dr Blowhole – and they all matched perfectly. Last time Kowalski had been 'dead' he'd always had a strange feeling that somehow he wasn't, despite the fact he still to this day didn't know how he'd lived through the Copacabana incident. This time he didn't feel that. He wasn't coming back.

Skipper shot bolt upright at the sound of the bell, a hundred different worst case scenarios racing through his head at light speed until he realized it was only the telephone. Well, you could never be too careful with types like Francis Blowhole and the Space Squids about. He'd learned that the hard way.

"Hello?" He answered groggily despite his insomnia, holding the avocado green phone to his ear before he realized it was upside down. He quickly fixed this, "Hello?" he said into the receiver again in case whoever wasn't calling hadn't heard him the first time.

"Skipper, get the dark matter down to HQ right now!" Kowalski's voice trembled over the phone.

"It's three in the morning…" Skipper began to protest but Kowalski was too wired to remember to let the higher ranking officer finish. He sounded like he'd had fifty cups of coffee then seen a ghost.

"Skipper, Tim Jones is gone!" He elaborated, "Nigel called it in an hour ago…!"

"Damn time zones." Skipper muttered, though there was something about the scientist's tone that told him he wasn't overreacting over a small problem and that the fact England was five hours ahead was the least of his worries.

"…The last time Nigel saw him he was seeing a visitor. He came back from pruning his roses and Jones was gone! Nigel's still got friends in MI5 and he checked the train stations and airports and none of them have any report of someone of his description. The visitor didn't seem to have brought a car and Jones' tank was only half full so he wouldn't have made it far."

"So he went out for a walk." Skipper theorised.

"Nigel's got all the same security stuff round that cottage of his as we have, he'd know if he'd just gone out for a… Dammit, Skipper! Nigel says there was something off about that visitor anyway, and especially the way Jones received him."

"What was off?"

"Will, he looked just like you! A little older, but that's a child's play disguise. And do you know what Jones called him? Nigel tells me he greeted the guy: "Hello Skipper, I've been waiting for you to turn up." You know, like they say it in movies."

"Kowalski, how many days have you been in the lab?" Skipper asked sceptically.

"Rockgut's blowing his top because someone took the jet this afternoon. He thinks…"

"So that's why you want me at the HQ, so I can prove I'm in the country," Skipper finished for him, "Well I'll prove it to him then. If I really am running about the world kidnapping old mentors I couldn't be back by now."

"You've got motive and opportunity, Skipper, that's the only reason for this. Don't take the accusation too harshly." Kowalski suggested, recognizing displeased Skipper's tone, "He did try to sell you…"

"I was mad at him because he didn't go through with it, not because he tried to trade me for an_ entire city_!"

"Well that's not how Rockgut sees it…"

"Skipper out." Skipper slammed the phone down to see Marlene watching him from the doorway with a concerned expression. He sighed, glancing at her then at the phone. He could never stay angry at Marlene, well, not unless she did something that deserved it.

"What was that?" She asked as Skipper brushed past her to throw a suit on before heading out the door.

"Jones…"

"The nice guy at HQ?"

"Yes, the one who got you released. They think I've kidnapped him." Will's hand tightened into a fist, "I told him moving to England, away from the rest of us, was dangerous!"

"No you didn't." Marlene countered.

"Fine, I didn't," he admitted.

"What about Shauna?"  
Will paused, the action of hurriedly doing up his shirt paused.

"I didn't ask about her."

He grabbed his blazer and a tie he'd do up in the car along with his shoelaces and picked the hand gun he'd recovered at the end of the whole 'back from the dead Penguins' thing from the dresser and slipped it into his pocket before walking briskly across to the door.

"Call me when you find out what's happened?" She asked. Skipper nodded, his hand on the door handle.

"Will do." He replied before he hurried out the door.

* * *

**June 7****th****, 1962**

Horatio Manfredi's hands gripped the chair like his life depended on it, only removing one hand to wipe the cold sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief.

"Your son may be a friend of my Private," Kowalski stated coldly, impassively taking in the man across the desk from him, "But I'm sure he would eventually get over it if his friend were to meet with an unfortunate accident."

"You… You can't," the intimidated man stuttered, "My cousin, you guys were practically brothers… he was on your team!" his pleas seemed to have no effect on the other man, "You can't get him anyway, he's at school with Will!"

"Do you really think I would send my Private out of shooting distance of myself without adequate protection? The school is practically swarming with my operatives."

"Look, I'm sorry about the stock, really I am. I didn't realise you were tryin' to buy the company, I wouldn't have made the price jump if I had!" Kowalski merely looked at the man, saying nothing as Manfredi shrunk further and further into his seat.

"I think you've got the idea, Horatio," he stated, motioning to the door behind the paralyzed man, "Just remember your place. Otherwise, it's the kid who pays the price." Horatio Manfredi stood up from the chair mopping his brow and left as he had come, leaving Kowalski alone in his office.

Kowalski reached across the desk to his phone, picked up the receiver and started to dial the number of Department headquarters.

"Hello?" He spoke, "Yes, I'd like to speak to Director Purvis McSlade… No, I will not wait." answered, careful to keep all emotion from his tone. He'd been cultivating his new appearance a number of years, but it was still difficult, "Tell him it's Kowalski. Yes, my first name's incorrectly on your most wanted database, so don't bother asking… I'll hold, but I'm busy so make it fast."

* * *

"Sir," Sergeant Jimmy Brian burst into the room waiving a piece of paper at his superior, "I've just got a report in, it's about…"

"Don't tell me," Purvis McSlade, police commissioner, and replacement as the head of the mysterious Department following Nigel's dismissal sighed, "What's he done now?"

"Well, we've got no facts…"

"No surprise there."

"But we're sure the whole thing was caused by the Penguins, specifically Kowalski in person… Are you alright Chief?"

McSlade sighed again looking wearily up from his desk, moving his hand from his face where on which his head had previously rested. Adjusting his glasses and looking ten years older – Jimmy could almost swear he'd grown a streak or two more of grey though that was impossible since it was a hairpiece – he glanced up at the boy through pained, envious eyes. That just looked completely off compared to his usual overly chirpy demeanour.

"I'd give anything to turn back the clock," McSlade reminisced, "You might be a little young to remember the way things were, but believe me, I'd give anything to have the Rockhoppers and the Squirrels back. They were normal criminals, not guys running around with their own forensics departments – heck, theirs are better equipped than ours – and military grade weapons. I'd wonder where they get all that stuff from if I didn't know we gave it to them."

Jimmy didn't quite know what to say, opting to stare at the floor in contemplative silence. McSlade did the same, until once again he looked up at the boy.

"Son," He paused, debating whether to ask the question and just how he should phrase it, "If you had to choose between your job and duty to a city, and your family your friends and all that, etc. etc., what would you do?" Jimmy looked slightly aghast. As veiled as the question was, he knew exactly what ultimatum his boss had been given and by whom.

"What are they making you do? Hand over…?"

"It's hypothetical. It would be a complete pardon."

"Right," Jimmy chewed at his lip, "Well, for me, it's always been family. This city, like you said, since the Penguins turned up, it's been messed up. You trust 'er and she stabs you in the back. Family, y'can't mess with that."

"Ten years ago you would have fit right in m'boy," McSlade chuckled, "Well I'll think on it," McSlade's eyes developed a far off quality and he repeated: "I'll think on it."

* * *

**June 8****th****, 1962**

"You what?!" Captain Timothy Jones shouted incredulously. McSlade wasn't sure he'd ever seen the man so angry, or considered that he even had the capacity to speak harshly to someone, "you - something – something -what?!" Well, he couldn't swear, at least.

"I gave him a full pardon." Spoke McSlade, his eyes in line with the floor, before repeating the official story behind the act, "He was unaware of the fact that his activities under the late 'Skipper' were not part of an official mission."

"Oh, he knew, we all did!" Jones countered with more sarcasm than he'd ever used in his life, "And you know very well he knew," Even the pained look in McSlade's eyes wasn't enough to quell Jones' rage, "We'd almost had him on the Roberts case. Almost proved he was behind her murder, or proved he destroyed evidence pointing to Skippah, at least!"

Jones knew what was going through the man's head. His family had been threatened, or he'd been given more money than he'd seen in his wildest dreams, it was _all_ the same in _all_ the cases. Still, the man had messed things up for him big time.

Jones' eyes narrowed, then relaxed, showing almost sympathy, "You know, I thought I had an ally in you. I thought you were going be the one official not working for K'walski, but then everyone has a price. I suppose it's only a matter of time until he finds something for me," then once again his expression darkened as stood in the doorway of the office, "But I'm still coming after you, McSlade. I'm going to have to bring you down with the rest of them."

And with that the younger man was gone. McSlade sighed. He didn't have to take this from the little Englishman. He was his superior, but then he did deserve whatever Jones dished out to him. He deserved a hell of a lot more. But he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Even as he tried to rationalize his future actions, he kind of admired the guy and his sheer determination, set in stone by his abandonment by the only family he'd ever known.

Essentially, he was on the fence about what to do. A second call, however, answered the question for him.

"Certainly, sir," he answered the other man on the telephone, this time not Kowalski, but that Archie character. He grimaced and the young Sergeant beside him knew exactly what was being asked, "If he still refuses to play ball, I'll see that he's not a problem for you within the week."

* * *

Captain Timothy Jones sat slumped at his desk his head almost touching the work surface despite the support of his fist. He was well and truly boxed in. His subordinate's priorities always deferred to K'walski's orders and now the people above him were getting bought up one by one. Kowalski didn't have the carefree way of doing business Skipper always had where he'd cut his 'private' a break or two, even though he was convinced they were bitter enemies. Kowalski was a different matter. His only goal was to win and he chased after that as methodically and unflinchingly as a robot.

"Sir?" Shauna his secretary, and oddly enough, a qualified nurse which was useful for him when he'd come back from field work poked her head into the office. Well, at least she'd stuck with him. Seeing her when he'd come into the office each morning and when they'd sit and have lunch together in the outer office was one of the few things other than duty that made him get up each day, "Mr Dale's back."

"Send him in." Jones replied.

Simon Dale limped into the office, his injured ankle dragging behind him. He walked at a snail's pace because of the injury, though Jones figured he over played it a bit, and it took him some time to sit himself down in the chair opposite the desk. He sat there, hunched over his cane with a scowl Jones could only describe as curmudgeonly, though it was unusual to see such an expression on someone around five years older than himself.

Jones really felt sorry for the man. It had only been a few weeks since the shootout between Kowalski and some of the remaining Squirrels. It had happened downtown, thankfully at 0600 so the streets had been empty, save for one man and his family. Dale, his wife and his daughter had dived for cover, but it hadn't been enough. Dale, with his ankle shot to pieces, was the only survivor.

That wasn't the problem. Unfortunately, Jones offered his condolences to people like Dale twice a month. That was probably why Dale was kicking up the media storm. He'd sold his story to the press with a few dramatic alterations and they'd lapped it up like a starved cat would milk. Ordinarily, that wouldn't be a problem but Jones was in the middle of a case. He needed Kowalski to think things were in the clear for him and hopefully fall into his trap.

"I told you my position on the telephone." Jones spoke to the man across from him who remained motionless, "I know you're grieving. I know you feel like nothing is happening but sometimes you can't just go full frontal assault."

"I know." Dale replied, keeping his cards close to his chest. He made Jones wait for it, holding it out before adding, "I'm willing to keep quiet."

"Thank you." Jones replied, "If you watch and wait, you will see Kowalski arrested and tried. I believe he is currently being held in the building pending a charge." Yes, that was routine and relatively safe. They tried to arrest him for something at least every couple of weeks.

"There's a price."

"Name it." Jones replied. Dale scoffed.

"Your little justice system," he stopped again to give Jones a belittling look, "You've been trying for years to get him, but nothing. Hell, it was your office that gave him that pardon only yesterday, your boss even!"

"I'm fighting that right now." Jones replied calmly, but Dale wasn't satisfied.

"You people are the ones who created this nightmare with all your crazy methods. Why don't you use those crazy methods and solve this city's problem _permanently_. That," Dale smirked, "Or the next thing I say to the press is that you and Kowalski are actually working together."

"We most certainly aren't."

"Then why doesn't anything happen?" Dale leaned forward across the desk, clutching his cane with both hands like he intended to strike him with it, "It's my way, big shot, or the highway!"

"Highway." Jones replied curtly, "Kowalski was partially responsible for the shootout, but I know for a fact that he would never endanger an innocent citizen if he had no reason to."

"See! In league with the enemy!" Dale almost shrieked, "You know I was there. I saw him look over the whole area and when my little Betsy tried to poke her head up to see if the violence was over I saw his men shoot."

"You can tell that in the witness box." Jones replied. Dale stood up and started to make his way towards the door. Courteously, Jones walked ahead of him and opened it for him. Dale didn't seem to like that very much.

"You're going to regret this." He threatened. Jones just nodded. He didn't really have any choice in the matter. Still, he was going to have to ask Kowalski about this one. Despite his certainty when dealing with Dale, he was never quite sure just what Kowalski was capable of doing anymore.

* * *

"You're going to regret this, Private." Kowalski spoke, seated at the plain metal table and chairs that made up the interrogation room. Jones took a key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs that an overzealous agent had shackled him to the chair with though Kowalski could have easily slipped them if he wanted to. He stood up, rubbing his wrists and making it quite clear by his attitude he was not happy.

"I seem to be hearing a lot of that today," Jones muttered in reply, though immediately realized how impolite of a comment that was, "Sorry." A flicker of an amused smile crossed Kowalski's face, but it returned to his version of a scowl pretty soon afterward.

"Taking my Private was low. Even by my standards."

"Didn't you warn Horatio Manfredi that you'd kill his son if he upset you again?" Jones countered.

"Hypothetically, if I ever said something like that I wouldn't actually intend to carry out the action," Kowalski replied, "I suppose you just had my Private 'brought in for questioning' to get my attention."

"I had no other way." Jones almost apologised, "He had rather a lot of fun playing with Rogah, though." Kowalski nodded, giving no indication of whether all was forgiven or not, "I'd like to talk to you about Dale..." Kowalski nodded again as if to say "continue…", "He says you knew his family was there when you opened fire." Jones accused. He could only hope for one of two possible 'hypothetical' answers. The ex-Private could see Kowalski was disgruntled by his adopted son being brought in which was no way to get cooperative answers from him, but there was no way Jones would venture onto Kowalski's turf.

"I have never knowingly done any child harm." Kowalski replied grimly, "I don't intend to either."

"That's all I wanted to know." Jones replied sceptically, "But have you ever considered that maybe you actions might quite obviously put innocents in harm's way?"

"You could say the same thing about driving a car," Kowalski countered without missing a beat, "Do you drive a car, Private?" Jones frowned in reply, though Kowalski had long since moved on, "Two words you can either hear from me or my lawyer: habeas corpus. Otherwise, I'd like to see what you try to charge me with this time. I'm thinking of keeping a scrap book of your weekly attempts."

* * *

Sergeant Brian stood with his finger on the detonator. McSlade had told him that Tim Jones would inspect the interrogation rooms around now and that he would stop at this particular one first. Brian had wired the room as instructed hours before and had stood by since he'd been told Jones had left his office. His orders were simple, and he knew that refusing to carry them out would be in direct violation of his superior's orders which came directly from the head of the Penguins himself.

If only he knew just who was also inside that room, he might have been able to give himself a good enough excuse not to hit the button.


	2. Hostage

"K'walski, don't be alarmed…" Jones began cautiously, his eyes locked on a point over Kowalski's shoulder.

"Are you kidding me?" If Jones wasn't so nervous, he probably would have agreed that it would be a rare sight indeed to see Kowalski visibly nervous these days.

"…But I think you ought to look who's been caught in the reflection of the mirror behind you." Carefully, Kowalski glanced behind him following Jones' eyes to where the mirror reflected what was going on beyond the open door. Kowalski nodded, sighting the nervous young officer psyching himself up.

"I see him." Kowalski replied, "Will he do it?"

"I think so." Jones replied, "I'm guessing you didn't actually give the order to have the two of us disposed of?"

"I didn't." Kowalski replied, "There is an order, though, not me for me, just you. Archie told me a few hours ago, I was going to mention it, but he told McSlade I wanted you out of the way. I do, for the record, but not now." Jones didn't believe him on that one, which was clear by his expression, "I think it's more likely McSlade's double crossed me. I got the impression he likes you."

Kowalski wasn't idle while this conversation was going about and neither was Jones. It was a trick from their days with Skipper: they'd banter to keep their nerves steady as they searched for a way out, "Timmy." He finally spoke, "go stand over by that back wall."

"Why?"

"Superior officer, don't disobey." Kowalski immediately interrupted though that no longer technically applied. His hand casually rested in his pocket as if the whole thing were an evening stroll as he slowly approached the door.

"Are you going to try and reason with…?" Jones began, but winced as two gunshots echoed through the room and their attacker dropped dead.

"Come on," he ordered, grabbing Jones by the arm and pulling him out of the room.

"Wait, what are you…?"

"If McSlade is after me, I need you as a hostage until I can call self-defence," Kowalski replied, "If he's after you, I want you alive because I've got questions on the Dale matter."

"Not because you feel any kind of lingering brotherly affection." Jones muttered as he allowed himself to be pulled down the corridor by his arm. He could already hear the sound of heavy boots behind him. Evidently someone had heard the gunshots.

* * *

They came to a crossroads.

"Right or left?" Kowalski demanded, "My car's out front."

"Left." Jones replied, "But wait!" He suddenly interrupted and Kowalski stopped.

"If you're going to tell me that your arm hurts…"

"No, Will's still here!" Kowalski's hand caught him painfully across the side of the face and he could taste blood as he stumbled backwards a few steps. He could see that from Kowalski's point of view he kind of deserved it, "He's in the booking area." Jones added. Kowalski grabbed him once again by the same arm and started off in the direction of what he knew was the booking area from when he'd come in.

When they were just around the corner Kowalski stopped.

"Call him." Kowalski ordered, though he was no longer gripping his arm and the gun was in his pocket. Jones could take two messages from that, but the one he preferred was that Kowalski was actually attempting to do him a favour on the off chance he was in need or rescue.

"Um, this is Captain Jones," he called around the corner, "Will, Kowalski wants to see you." There was no answer.

"Call him Private or he thinks it's a trap." Kowalski corrected.

"Private, would you come out here?" There was a patter of little feet and the ten year old appeared, smartly dressed in his little suit with a leather school satchel in hand.

"Good afternoon, Captain." He greeted with a smile, and Jones smiled back.

"Come on." Kowalski ordered and the group set off almost at a run in the direction Jones had pointed out as being the front door. Amazingly, though the boy had to jog to keep up with them at no point did he lose breath or slow or at least show it on the whole distance until they came to the spacious lobby with its mosaicked floors that were common around the older areas of the Department's headquarters.

"How do you want to play this?" Kowalski asked, "Actually," he turned to the boy, "Private, give me an exit strategy."

"Um…" the boy's wide eyes looked up at his father figure, "Is there any kind of alert out on you?"

"I just shot and killed a police officer so there might be, but most likely the Captain's _efficient_ _department_ hasn't put two and two together yet." Jones didn't like the time he was taking, especially with the boy there too. There was one possibility Kowalski didn't seem to be taking seriously which was that McSlade was after both of them.

"I suppose we should just walk out as if nothing happened," Private replied thoughtfully, "then if we are attacked… Pardon me asking, sir," big blue eyes turned to Jones, "but are you a valid hostage?"

"For all purposes concerned, yes." Kowalski replied.

"Then we can use him?" Kowalski nodded his approval, which was all the congratulations the boy got before they stepped out into the lobby, walking silently – they had no need to be inconspicuous, everyone knew the faces of Kowalski and his young ward – and deliberately and not exciting any more attention than if Jones merely wanted to ask a few more questions as was usual after Kowalski's many releases. Nobody so much as blinked as they sauntered down the grand stone front steps and walked a short distance down the sidewalk where Kowalski's car was waiting.

"Where to, sir?" Jenkins' stuffy voice, the product of one too many elocution lessons inquired.

"Home." Kowalski replied, "Take the back roads."

* * *

Agent Johnny 'Skipper' Van Dorn of the FBI sat at the back of the smoke filled train car a book in his hands. I say, "A book in his hands," as opposed to, "reading a book," as he wasn't reading it at all and never had any intention to do anything of the sort. In fact, he wasn't even sure what the book was and had to bluff his way out of things when the conductor inquired innocently as to what he was reading. His attention was actually on the man four rows ahead of him and the notepad placed discreetly in the seat to his right, overshadowed by his overcoat.

Starting at the beginning of the notepad you'd find a description of the man he'd been trailing since he left Chicago, the man four rows ahead of him: bright red hair, tall – past the 6' mark by a couple of inches – muscular build, and the distinguishing marks category informed of a deep, jagged scar that went from his cheekbone downwards, cutting across the corner of his mouth to almost his jawline. He always wore a backpack too, something else he'd made note of as unusual.

Under that would be a list of aliases the man had assumed. There'd been several but they were all long in the past and covered by files that when he requested them he was told were classified. No, he was only concerned with two of those names: Ryan Delaunay, the name they'd picked up on him as, and Alexander Rico, the name most of his record was in and the name he was born with.

The tunnels stopped being quite so dark and they pulled into the dark painted, florescent lit platform in Grand Central Station where they stopped. Most of the crowds passed by before Rico stood up, throwing his back pack over his shoulder and starting towards the exit of the train. Johnny put stood up, putting the notebook in his pocket and the book in his bag as he followed Rico out into New York.

* * *

The drive was not a dull one. Will was polite and conversational, though constantly glanced over to see if Kowalski approved of what he was saying. All it did was remind Jones of the drawn out custody battle going on in the courts between Kowalski and the boy's actual mother. She didn't have a chance, though Jones had to admire her for at least trying to file anything against Kowalski. Kowalski kept it all secret from the kid as Jones found out when he attempted to discuss it with him. As far as the boy was concerned, he was Skipper's son and the word 'mother' was a word Kowalski had trained him to shut down at the sound of.

"Pardon the interruption, sir." Jenkins announced from the driver's seat, "but the breaks don't seem to be working," the calm butler paused a moment, testing some of the other functions, "It seems nothing is working, sir, save the steering."

"System diagnosis." Kowalski ordered taking a hole-punched card from his wallet and handing it to the butler who inserted it into a slot in the dashboard. Jones turned to his onetime superior who was entirely stony as he tested the doors and windows on his side. All locked.

"Sir?" the kid spoke, and Kowalski glanced briefly back to acknowledge him as Jones took the hint to try his door which was also locked.

"Yes, Private?" Jones expected the kid to ask something like, if everything was alright or if they were going to die. What he said next, however, was a complete surprise.

"I told you, you should have used the weaker glass you could still break from the inside. It was still bullet proof."

"Not the time, Private." Kowalski interrupted, though Jones barely could conceal a smirk as he saw half the gears turning in Kowalski's head were now beating himself up over getting an 'I told you so' from a ten year old.

"Sir, the system is not responding." Jenkins reported. Kowalski nodded.

"Special relativity, that clinches it, it's the box." He spoke, glancing nervously at the kid. So, it was that bad.

"What's 'the box'?" Jones asked.

"A system developed by Consolidated Amalgamated for uses in espionage and sabotage," Kowalski replied as he inspected the interior of the car, "Jenkins, can you jettison fuel?"

"No sir, everything save steering's unresponsive," The butler replied, "there's some rather sharp turns coming up and I can do nothing about our speed."

"How long till we hit that?"

"Five minutes."

"The box?" Jones prompted nervously as Kowalski climbed forward into the passenger seat. Jones reached back to the row of seats behind where he and Kowalski had been seated offering Will his hand as comfort, but the boy refused it, seeming as calm as his guardian.

"Shuts down a car, basically, sir." Jenkins replied. Well that cleared up a lot of mysteries as to why the brakes failed and the windows and doors mysteriously locked on so many of Kowalski's political enemies, "Self destructs afterwards."

"What was your last class today, private?" Kowalski called back to his ward.

"Kowalski, perhaps this is not the time to…" Jones began to suggest but Will interrupted him.

"Chemistry, sir."

"Your homework was find and bring in things to test in a Bunsen burner tomorrow?" Kowalski questioned.

"Yes sir. I took some things from your lab, sir." Will replied, seemingly knowing better than to question the purposes of the questions and to just blindly obey. Kowalski fished about for something in his pocket, removing a blackish red powder.

"Do you have aluminium filings?"

"Yes sir, copper and magnesium too."

"Just the aluminium." The boy reached into his satchel and passed a small bag of iron filings to Kowalski, "Jones, can I have your shoelace and a match?"

"What?"

"I don't have shoelaces, can I have one of yours?" Kowalski repeated with an exasperated note to his voice. Jones spotted the green sharp turns coming up sign and handed Kowalski the match as he started to remove his shoelace, "And a match, I don't smoke."

"Well I don't either," Jones replied, untying one of his shoes, "We could really use Rico around now." he added, though instantly regretted it. Still, when he fished in his pockets he did find one and handed the single matchstick to Kowalski.

Jones watched in wonder as Kowalski carefully examined the floor, stopping at a point on the floor of the vehicle near where his feet were.

"I assume you are assuming that's where the box is attached, sir." Jenkins commented.

"Not assuming, Jenkins, that's the only place you can put it. I designed it." Kowalski replied, unable to prevent himself from boasting as he carefully measured out quantities of both powders and mixing them together on the floor, adding a few others he happened to have in his pocket. Only Kowalski. Then he placed the shoelace on the floor, burying one end in the metal filings like a fuse. He set it alight a couple of inches from the powder then climbed into the back seat, Jones intently watching as the flame burned down the cord towards the filings.

"Don't look." Spoke Kowalski and Jones complied. A few seconds later there was a hissing sound and when Kowalski allowed him to look, Jones saw there was a glowing red hole burned right through the car, "Everything working alright, Jenkins?" Kowalski asked.

"Yes sir, the box is destroyed." Jenkins replied. Jones frowned, mystified.

"What sorcery is this?" He barely whispered, still staring at the red hot metal.

"Exothermic oxidization reduction reaction. Thermite." Kowalski replied. Jones didn't quite know what to make of it, but didn't ask further. Regardless, Kowalski obliged anyway.

"Oh, ok." Jones replied politely when he'd finished.

"You didn't understand a word I said." Kowalski commented.

"I'm afraid you are completely correct," Jones smiled weakly as the car gave a slight lurch to the right as Jenkins took on the tight corner, though had been able to decrease his speed significantly and it was smooth sailing by the next, "I'm just glad not to be crashing in a blazing inferno."

"You shouldn't worry," Will reassured, "this kind of think happens quite often."


	3. Rico

The car turned down another tree lined drive, the houses all mansions of brick and brownstone built by captains of industry in the beginning of the century. The sun was starting to set and there was a chill in the air as Jenkins pulled into the gravel drive of probably the largest of the mansions on the block.

Kowalski frowned as the front door opened and a small man with an almost boyish face and wide blue eyes wearing perhaps the gaudiest suit one could in blue and red walked out to greet them followed by a few others more generic to the type Kowalski was supposed to deal.

"You do realize now I can't let you go." Kowalski whispered. Jones replied discretely in the affirmative, understanding Kowalski's awkward position.

Once again Kowalski grabbed him roughly by the arm, forcing him forward towards the men. Jones put up a little resistance, but not much.

"You heard on the news?" Kowalski asked.

"Yeah." Barry Malone replied in his ever haughty tone, "You really put the heat on us, boss, killin' a cop then takin' off with the Captain." However it was quite clear Barry had read something into the real situation, and even if he didn't say it, he clearly disapproved.

"It's self-defence, open and shut," Kowalski replied unconcerned. He nodded to Jones, "He'll swear to it." Barry's nerves relaxed and stepped aside out of feudal respect as the party of four marched into the house, Jenkins rushing off in the direction of what Jones assumed was the kitchen after assisting them with their coats and getting Jones a replacement shoe lace.

"Wait for me in the office," Kowalski ordered and Barry and associates disappeared in that direction. Kowalski's attention returned to Jones, "I don't care what you do, just keep out of their sight. You can go after they've left."

"Ok," Jones replied, "I'll play with Will."

"Why don't you run him through some sparring?" Kowalski suggested over his shoulder as he started towards the study, "He'll surprise you." Jones watched Kowalski shut the door behind him before looking down at the kid who was beaming proudly at him.

"If it wouldn't be any trouble, Captain…" the boy began to ask with his big starry eyes. Jones smiled. So this was what it looked felt to get the puppy dog treatment; he'd always wondered what the others had found so irresistible in him.

"Oh, alright then," He laughed, allowing the boy to excitedly lead him towards the gym, "Show me what you've got."

* * *

The doorbell called Jenkins from the kitchen and out to the front door. Kowalski, who was walking down the stairs probably to shoo Jones out some time glanced disinterestedly down, though as soon as he saw who was behind the door as Jenkins opened it with a lofty, "This is the Kowalski residence, may I inquire who is calling?" and his expression underwent the near invisible change that would be about the equivalent of extreme concern. And he'd barely noticed when it seemed like they were about to drive off a cliff.

"Rico." The man replied, "'e knows me."

Sure enough Kowalski did know him. Enough to greet him with his hand openly in the pocket where he kept his gun.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kowalski growled, "Unless you've suddenly gone suicidal."

"Agen' Va' Dorn." Rico replied bluntly, "'e lookin' into th' Knight case."

"What's wrong," Kowalski replied bitterly. It had been a long time since Jones had seen Kowalski show emotions in little more than brief snatches. This was not, however, the moment he had envisioned Kowalski's return to normal human behaviour would turn out as, "Can't take the heat? Why should I give a damn?"

"Y' don' want 'im investigatin' that case." Rico continued.

"Yeah, because I'd rather put you in the ground myself."

"He' migh' find out 'ippah ain' technically Will's father." At that Kowalski froze. He had a point. He'd tried to cover it up, but somewhere there was going to be a reference to William Knight, "Mess up ya cu'tody thing. Migh' just have ta give 'im back ta Lola."

Jones had since abandoned Will with a polite excuse and had made his way closer to the door. Neither of them seemed to mind he was quite obviously listening in.

"Alright," Kowalski replied grimly, "I'll talk to him." His eyes again locked angrily onto Rico, "You've got a two minutes for the tip, start running."

"Wait!" Jones protested. He knew what 'I'll talk to him,' meant. At the peak of the ex-Private's optimism, Kowalski had, 'talked' to Lola. If you asked Kowalski for the more probable and realistic end, well, he'd tell you he'd hypothetically 'talked' to a number of people who were now deceased, "He's only doing his job. Somebody probably assigned him to the Knight case. He probably doesn't even care…"

Suddenly all three wheeled around at the sound of an entirely new voice.

"Yeah, you guys seem to be real shook up over that itty bitty murder," the man spoke. Powerful blue eyes, not icy and cold like Kowalski's but just as determined though the contained a kind of reckless twinkle too. Same as in the almost overly confident half smile he displayed as the man stood leaned against the banister, "Oh, just I let myself in through a window upstairs, I didn't hear much," he elaborated, flashing that smile again. As he returned to immaculate, military-like posture, his formal, almost tuxedo like, black suit snapped into flawless order. He stepped forward towards shocked eyes, extending his hand, "Agent Johnny Van Dorn, FBI. It's Van Dorn, by the way, except for the cop."

"Um," Rico cleared his throat uncomfortably and half whispered to Kowalski, "Did ah mention 'e look jus' like 'ippah?"

"Funnily enough, most people call me Skipper." None of the estranged colleagues said anything, even Kowalski stood in stunned silence, "I'm from Chicago; over there the name doesn't mean crime and destruction. I'm just a repeat offending back seat driver when it comes to sailing."

"Good afternoon, Agent Van Dorn, I mean, Johnny," Jones finally greeted, shakily accepting the hand that was open to any of them, "I'm Captain Timothy Jones of the Special Anti-Organised Crime Squad, NYPD."

"Yeah, more like Department. I heard about your kidnapping over the radio," Van Dorn replied. He glanced between Jones and Kowalski standing next to him, "You guys are mixed up, you know. He's playin' with your kid and eating dinner with you and a couple of hours ago you're tellin' people to kill him."

"Unfortunate mix up, Mr Van Dorn," Kowalski finally muttered in barely audible tones, "Hypothetically." Kowalski was definitely unnerved if he almost forgot that word.

"So I'm working on the Knight case…" the young Agent prompted. That was probably what had surprised them most, his age. They'd all seen people who looked similar to Skipper, though Van Dorn's was closer to a resemblance than lookalikes or brothers. It was his moves, his smile, his suit, his speech pattern - the accent wasn't the same - and his whole way of being that channelled Skipper perfectly. Even that wasn't what had knocked them into stunned silence; Jones could do a half decent impression of Skipper, even if he said so himself.

But it was the Skipper of 1944 that Van Dorn appeared as. It was the Skipper without the pressures of running an empire, losing a wife and having to hide another one. Without Denmark or Operation Join and Destroy or the Copacabana. That was what was so, not unnerving, just… he didn't really know how to describe it. Actually, that was wrong too, he was too old for that being around what Jones would guess to be his mid-twenties and considering that the original Skipper had spent his life claiming he was two years older than he actually was. No, Johnny Van Dorn personified, at least in Jones' eyes, what Skipper could have been. What all of them could have been.

"He' want you' side of the 'ory." Rico finished for him.

"And not the official one," Van Dorn added, "The four of us all know that's not Grant in the ground under the headstone that says his name. And Grant was mixed up with Knight somehow too; I wanna know what that was."

_Oh, Knight was mixed up with Grant,_ Jones thought, _more than Kowalski will ever let you know._

"Alright," Kowalski spoke, "I'd known Tony Knight from my days in the armed forces. We looked each other up after the war. One day he found himself owing money to people who were willing to take unreasonable measures even after he had paid them back. He tried to keep me out of it but I still found out.

"He and Skipper were quite similar, similar in the manor you and he seem to be, and they switched places. Skipper was happy to have the excitement of being under attack." It always amazed Jones how Kowalski could make up such irrefutable stories off the top of his head. Even if someone had somehow correctly identified the bodies there was no argument why the fictitious Tony Knight and the very real Skipper hadn't just switched places for the day.

"'is office sen' me there sayn' the bartender wa' a spy." Rico cut in.

"I never did anything like that," Kowalski countered without so much as flinching, "Anyhow, Rico must have found out about the switch and saw it as an opportunity to kill Skipper with plausible deniability…"

"Ah di' not!"

"And Knight was of course no match for Skipper's enemies and so was lost to a simple car crash," Kowalski ended the story, "And that's why Lola Knight has absolutely no claim to my Private. She is not the mother."

"Yeah, I figured you'd end it with that." Van Dorn replied, bordering on sarcasm. He turned to Rico.

"You're denying this?"

"'course ah am." Rico replied.

"Did you make advances towards one Lola Knight on two occasions, once on a hijacked airplane and the other at the Copacabana?" Van Dorn questioned.

"No." Rico answered.

"Yes he did!" Jones countered.

"Did you fire," Van Dorn reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo graph of a bullet, "this bullet from this," he reached into his pocket again and took out another photograph of Rico's standard issue side arm, "weapon at a person you believed to be either Anthony Lincoln Knight or Blake Grant known to you as Skipper?" Rico looked uncomfortably down at his hands.

"No…" Rico noticed Jones opening his mouth to protest this, "Fine, Ah did," he glared at Kowalski, "On 'is orders."

"Can you prove it?"

"The fact ah can't prob'ly means 'e did it." Jones had to admit he had a point there, and Van Dorn seemed to be following the same train of thought.

"Agent Van Dorn?" Jones intervened.

"Yeah?"

"Following the shooting Kowalski actually called me asking to be in on the arrest I attempted to make at Rico's apartment for that murder," Jones testified as Van Dorn took notes, "My word of honour is sacred to me, and I would give you that while saying K'walski's mourning was entirely genuine."

"Van Dorn," Kowalski spoke, once again showing a semblance of emotion though Jones wouldn't put it past him to only be trying to get the Agent's sympathy, "There's a child in the next room," Kowalski motioned to the closed dining foom doors through which Will was reading his Napoleon, blissfully innocent there were any strangers in the house, "This man who I once called my brother in arms left that child without a father. Do I make myself clear?"

"Absolutely." Van Dorn replied gravely. He had Skipper's sense of justice too, before it was warped beyond recognition.

"'e messed up the 'id, then 'is mother!" Rico protested, but Van Dorn wasn't at all impressed.

"I've picked a side," he announced, "You've got more than one crime to answer for, buddy, and across state lines too."

"Van Dorn?" Kowalski interrupted.

"What, you got something else to tell me?"

"This is a very respectable neighbourhood…"

"Yeah, yeah, we'll make the arrest without the pomp and ceremony," Van Dorn replied. It was then Kowalski saw a kind of half smile cross Rico's face. He could run, kill Van Dorn and nobody would ever know an arrest should have been made except Kowalski and Jones, neither or which would be believed considering the current media campaign, "Lemme put it this way," Van Dorn glanced back at Kowalski, "He'd rather deal with you now than send you to jail. Don't give him the excuse." Despite this, Rico still seemed to have one half of his thrill crazed mind on escape.

"Private!" Kowalski called and the little boy scampered into the room, "I want you to see this."

"Who are these people?" he questioned looking at Van Dorn and Rico.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Kowalski dismissed. The boy didn't push further. Van Dorn grabbed the door that Rico had shut behind him and held it open.

"Shall we, gentlemen?" Kowalski took the first step, falling into sync next to Rico.

"Don't make me shoot you down in front of the kid," Jones heard him whisper with almost a vicious tone to his voice, but left it to the back of his mind after wondering why Kowalski would think Rico cared anything for the boy.

The four of them stepped out onto the stone patio, Will walking along respectfully behind his guardian when the gentle twilight erupted into harsh bright flashes of light and the mechanical clicks of cameras going off almost at the same time.

"All of you!" McSlade's voice shouted over the noise of the reporters and the crowd of civilians that had gathered around the house whilst still posing for the cameras, "Keep your hands where we can see them!" Jones could see Dale smirking just behind the line of officers facing them with weapons drawn like a firing squad. His first thought was for Will, though…

"Private," Kowalski ordered the boy still hidden from view behind him, "Escape plan 4327. Take the tunnel to Consolidated Amalgamated. Your contact is Alex Lionel."

"Yes sir." Came the whispered reply and the kid was gone before McSlade had ever seen him. The line of officers cautiously approached and Jones heard the beginning of his Miranda rights being read to him. That was before everything went black.


	4. The Team

"Careful, genius, you don't want to knock him out before he wakes up!" Van Dorn warned as Kowalski raised his hand to the unconscious man. Kowalski entirely disregarded him, slapping Jones across the face.

"Skippah!" the man gasped, almost sitting bolt upright, though Kowalski kept him lying down.

"Yup, they arrested me too," Van Dorn commented, "Surprise surprise." That wasn't, however, the skipper which Jones had meant. As Kowalski finally let him sit up he found he'd woken up on a cot, a scratchy blanket draped haphazardly over him. Kowalski was seated on his own cot in the next door cell, his arm now receding through the iron bars that separated the cells. In the one after Kowalski's, Van Dorn had paused his pacing, watching him with that grin of his.

"Where are we?" Jones asked trying to orient himself.

"Your top secret Department, Private," Van Dorn replied, "we've been arrested for taking bribes from him," he motioned to Kowalski, "And assorted other stuff McSlade's trumped up. You fainted on us, by the way."

"Yes, sorry," The ex-Private apologised then repeated his usual excuse, "I'm of a rather delicate constitution." He frowned, "Where's Rico?"

"Interrogation." Kowalski replied, "I don't get why they still try that on us." Private had to admit that, on any of them, even the most vicious questioning within the law would have about the effect on them asking 'pretty please'. Jones knew, he'd tried both, "It's completely illogical," Kowalski commented, "He's got nothing on me if he has nothing on you, and I can have both of you exonerated by the end of the day."

A door at the end of the corridor opened with a loud creak and two guards half dragged Rico back towards his cell. Rico was semi-conscious with his skin an unhealthy pallor and the blood matted wound on his head was in a spot that made it unlikely it was an accident. He was tossed limply like a rag doll onto the floor and the door was locked behind him.

Kowalski observed the whole situation with the detached interest of a researcher reading a case study. He let the guards start to walk out, but when they were about half way to the door, he stopped them.

"He needs medical attention." Kowalski stated in obvious reference to Rico.

"Yeah, the doctor's busy." One of the guards answered, and it was unclear whether he was sympathetic or not but he did not seem openly hostile, nor his partner.

"I'm qualified, let me take a look at him." Kowalski replied. The two guards glanced at each other then opened Kowalski's cell. Private watched with interest at the sudden concern he showed his enemy and hopeful thoughts that perhaps Kowalski's feelings towards Rico were more akin to the relationship between he and Jones. However, as Kowalski brushed past one of the guards on the way to Rico's cell, he slipped a small but deadly knife from the officer's belt. It was clear what he was intending to and the assumption that he could either pay off the guards or kill them and blame it on Rico was the reasoning that Jones assumed along with his craving for revenge that he was probably using to excuse himself from having to use a more stealthy method.

Jones realized, even if Kowalski didn't, that the guard was well aware of what he'd just done, and that was what confused him. He recognised the two as officers Meredith and Ramon – he prided himself on getting to know the names of as many of the people who worked at the department as he could regardless or rank – and they were two of the most honest and loyal men he'd met, not least that they had an iron clad hatred of the Penguins. Yet as Jones saw Kowalski lean over Rico as if examining him though the knife was cleverly concealed in his palm they did little more than a man on Kowalski's pay to stop what was obviously about to be murder.

"Kowalski!" Jones shouted, his alarm throwing his voice pitch high and boyish. The man glanced up at Jones' worried expression with disinterest, "Um, I think it's just cuts and bruises." He added sheepishly as if trying to apologise for his earlier alarm.

"I don't think so." Kowalski countered.

"Please Kowalski." Jones threw all his energy into the puppy dog look, though made it as clear as he could without speaking that his concern was barely for Rico. Oddly enough, Kowalski seemed to trust him and stepped back from the unconscious man, flashing a 'this better be good' look.

"He's fine." Kowalski spoke and the guards seemed quite annoyed as Kowalski made his way back to his cell.

"Are you sure?" Meredith asked, "You don't want him dying on us."

"I really wouldn't care," Kowalski replied, "He is, unfortunately, perfectly fine."

"Don't you think you should take a better look?"

"Don't you think you should to go to medical school before you start telling me how do examine a patient?" Kowalski countered, his annoyance coming off in his tone though Jones had to say, hearing Kowalski say something sarcastic to someone was probably the best thing he could wish for as of late. Jones could only theorise that the excitement of some kind of mystery was starting to lift him out of his perpetual grief that had left him little more than an automaton.

Van Dorn waited for the guards to leave before obeying his pent up curiosity.

"Spill it, Jones." He prompted.

"Well," the ex-Penguin began, "It just seemed suspicious, what they were about to let K'walski do, since, well, they're not really the type you could bribe," Jones began, "I don't know what it means but it's suspicious. And," he added just in case Kowalski wasn't quite sold, "We might want to know why Rico came back in such bad shape."

Kowalski nodded thoughtfully though it was clear to Jones he would never admit that he'd almost walked into a trap. Van Dorn seemed to sense it too and didn't push the issue.

"So McSlade's willing to allow you to kill a man just so he can get you nailed so he can get the rest of us," Van Dorn summarized, "and he's using torture."

"Private will crack under whatever they put Rico through." Kowalski observed, not making it clear just which one he was referring to though he seemed concerned. As Rico would later tell them when he regained consciousness, they'd been attempting to get him to sign a false statement which would condemn all four of them, "I've got to be in front of Judge Alice first thing in the AM, too about my Private. It's all bought and paid for, hypothetically, but I still need to turn up."

"So we aren't staying here," Van Dorn concluded, "Right, have we got any options on that front?"

"Escape." Kowalski replied, "Come on, that was a no brainer." He scoffed.

"Well, genius, could you give me some options on this mysterious 'escape'?"

A grin spread on Jones' face as Kowalski removed a small clipboard from an inside pocket and a pen. He turned over a new page and started writing down his observations and calculations. Van Dorn watched with idle interest but when Jones caught his eye he mouthed to him, "I think he likes you." Van Dorn grinned and mouthed back.

"No kidding."

"Keep it up, would you?"

"What?"

"The Skipper thing." Van Dorn shook his head.

"I don't act like anyone else." Much to Van Dorn's confusion Jones' smile only brightened. Skipper to a tee, and he didn't even seem to be trying.

* * *

"We're not taking him." Kowalski spoke, glaring at Rico. Rico glared right back at him.

"He' gonna stab me in 'e back." He replied in a similar tone and with similar determination.

"With ample justification!" Skipper's next silent message to jones was a simple question: "are these two going to do this all the time?" Jones nodded.

"Cut it out, ladies," Skipper interrupted. Both Kowalski and Rico diverted their glares to him, "Now we're going to work together, take care of our parts of the plan and nobody is going to stab anyone in the back or be left behind."

"'oo made you boss." Rico grumbled.

"I have to agree…" Kowalski paused thoughtfully, "No, if me and Rico nominating ourselves would cancel each other out, and Private will nominate Van Dorn and Van Dorn will nominate himself so…"

"Is that insubordination…?" Skipper began to accuse, understanding less of Kowalski's argument than Jones.

"He's just backing you up." Jones replied hurriedly, which he was in his own strange way, "So, shall we…"

"Van Dorn, can I hear that line again?" Kowalski interrupted.

"Sure," the man replied then cleared his throat, "This is Commissioner McSlade…"

"Thicker." Jones prompted, "He's a bit of a show off." Skipper nodded.

"This is Commissioner McSlade…"

* * *

"…I want everyone on the perimeter!" the intercom blasted into ever office in the building, "Kowalski's got us surrounded and _we are not_ going to do any bargaining!" Skipper disconnected the makeshift microphone Kowalski had borrowed to splice them into the intercom.

"Ha!" Kowalski laughed triumphantly as he saw the guards down the hall grab their weapons and rush off somewhere else in the building, "What kind of idiot ran the communication wires through the detention block cells?"

Rico removed a lock pick sewed into the lining of his suit and was finally able to pick the locks now the guards were no longer watching them. It had taken a lot of clever manoeuvring and distraction to get into the intercom, and even better excuses to get Kowalski to cannibalize the miniature radio he'd been working on in his spare time for the microphone and even more pleading to get him to give Rico the knife he had procured from the guard. It amazed Skipper just what kind of stuff these guys could get past a search.

Skipper took up the lead, Kowalski opening doors for him when he found them locked with Rico's lock pick while they waited for Rico to finish setting things up with a few shell casings and a piece of fishing wire he'd found in the guard station. As soon as Rico jogged up to him Kowalski demanded the knife but it was commandeered by Skipper.

As predicted the corridors were completely empty, as everyone was on the perimeter, though Jones' heart was in his mouth the whole time that they might run across someone and either Rico or Kowalski or – well, he wasn't sure about Skipper – would do something drastic.

"How far are we, Jones?" Skipper whispered.

"Next corridor." Private replied and they turned right and directly into a dead end, "Yes, we're here." He whispered. They walked into the cul de sac which was lined with lockers and shut the doors behind them.

* * *

"Rai' ya two." Rico whispered, tossing the two quarters into the centre.

"Call." Skipper whispered back. A quick search through the nearby lockers had provided them with cards for entertainment while they waited and what Jones suspected was the money Rico was betting with.

"McSlade's taking his time." Skipper whispered with concern, "Are you sure he'll react like you expected him…"

"99.9756%, yes." Kowalski replied and after another game the sound of heavy boots on linoleum and concrete floors confirmed his prediction. Someone was even kind enough to shout out:

"Come on boys, the Commish says they have to be back in the cell block!" Jones saw Kowalski supress a snicker at this though Van Dorn quickly shut him up. It made Private almost misty to see Van Dorn do something so positively Skipper.

When the sound of the police officers who, having gotten the announcement from McSlade said that he had not, in fact, told them to guard an empty perimeter had passed they waited a few more minutes to make sure they didn't encounter stragglers. In fact, they were only just leaving the section of corridor when Rico's little surprise went off.

Rico grinned wildly as he followed Jones' lead through once again empty corridors in the direction of the motor pool, imagining the shock of the guards when they'd supposedly hear shots from inside the cells, namely the spare cartridges exploding as they reached the end of their fuse and when they rushed inside breaking the fishing line which would drop the pebble on the button that would put the whole detention area into lockdown.

"Well that was kinda uneventful." Skipper commented with more than a note of disapointment when Jones notified them they had little more than a few more turns to go before they'd reach their destination, "No explosions, no wild chases…"

"We don't do that kind of stuff anymore, it's ineffective." Kowalski replied firmly. What was left unsaid was those _ineffective_ days when they'd built the empire that had been the best in his life. Jones almost stopped himself from adding that he wouldn't have minded an explosion or two, at least, as long as nobody was hurt.

* * *

"Ah drivin'!" Rico announced triumphantly as he made a run for Commissioner McSlade's personal modified squad car which looked something in the price bracket of something Kowalski would drive.

"Not a chance." Kowalski countered, still clinging desperately to what Skipper had pointed out as being a 'all round spoil sport.' Although, there was some sense to the fact that it was not the wisest choice to allow Rico to drive when trying to blend in.

"Cut it out, boys, I'm the only one with a licence that won't get us all hauled back here for driving a police car," Skipper interrupted approaching the driver's door, "Kowalski, commandeer this for me, would ya?" Half satisfied with the compromise Kowalski accepted Rico's lock pick and made short work of the door before taking around the same amount of time to get the car running.

"Timmy, what are you doing?!" a shaky voice behind them interrupted and all four turned around to see the imposing form of Lieutenant Roger with his side arm brandished, though the comically shocked expression on his face didn't bode well for seeming threatening, something he'd always avoided despite his physique.

"Rogah, there's stuff I can't explain about this…" Private began, walking away from the others hoping they'd take the opportunity to get away while Roger was distracted. He didn't hear an engine start but hoped they'd at least snuck away to another part of the building.

"I honestly didn't believe it, I thought McSlade was nuts when he said you were with them," Roger gasped in bewilderment, a pained look of betrayal on his face, "After everything…"

"It's just a one off, Roger, I don't know how but McSlade's gotten out of hand," Private pleaded and he saw Roger's thankfully trusting face soften. He'd earned that trust with years of honesty and friendship. And to think it had all started because Roger was the only one in the Department who drank tea, "Other than that anything McSlade said is wrong. I'm not taking bribes from K'walski." Roger looked down at his hands, though Private didn't take advantage of it.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"Entirely forgiven." Private smiled, "Tea and scones still on?"

"Timmy, you might not see it coming, but if you start getting too close to Kowalski's crowd, I don't want you to be upset if I have to tell ya." He announced as if it was the hardest thing in the world to say.

"I'd never be offended, Rogah." Private replied.

"But if I have to tell you, you'll listen?" Roger pleaded, "Just remember that, ok?"

"Absolutely. And thank you for…" However he didn't get a chance to finish reassuring Roger when the man collapsed unconscious to the ground revealing Skipper standing behind him.

"Little trick I picked up from a friend in mine in New Orleans; he'll wake up in an hour with a headache," he reassured Private almost posing before stepping around the car Roger had been stood behind, the others appearing from their respective hiding places. It was only then he noticed Private's horrified expression, "What? There's a time for trading baking tips and Lunicorn words of wisdom and there's a time for gettin' the hell outa here."

"I suppose so." Private replied weakly, taking one last glance at Roger's unconscious form before driving off.


	5. The Enemy

"I can only conclude from the evidence presented…"

Kowalski listened to the judge's voice drone on, watching with enough visible interest not to be considered heartless though with enough indifference that it was clear Mrs Knight's persistent legal attacks didn't worry him in the least.

Across the corridor that lead between the two tables and up to the bench Kowalski could see his opponent leant forward in her chair with desperate anticipation, the optimism she tried to smother appearing almost pathetically on her pleading expression. He could imagine she was almost to the point, as the rather theatrical judge dragged out the suspense, where she was possibly trying to telekinetically will the man to award her his Private. This was the final hearing. He'd made it clear to her that nobody was going to accept her contesting the arrangements again.

"No!" the soft cry left her trembling lips as the result that had never been in doubt from the start was made final and the case was dismissed. Her almost ghostly slender form that her simple dress was draped around collapsed in soft, muffled sobs as the council she'd retained with the allowance Eliot gave her together with what she and Julian had been able to scrape together to bring them over the threshold of the elevated prices attorneys were charging her as a kind of 'danger pay' for going up against the Penguins attempted to comfort her out of undeniable pity.

"Congratulations, sir." He heard Barry speak hurrying off to make all the arrangements as to how this should be played with the press. That reminded him: he had appointments of his own that needed keeping. Fortunately McSlade had had sense enough to keep the whole arrest under his hat so he could walk down the street without being brought in again but the whole matter was a time bomb.

A formal, "Sorry Lola," was all he offered her as he left the courtroom and slipped out a side exit as Barry fielded questions about the outcome of the case on the front steps and claimed he'd be out any minute. They'd get around to him soon enough, but hopefully the whole thing would die down before any attention got to his Private. He hadn't taught the boy yet how to give them answers they'd be satisfied with without showing your hand.

"'oo cold." Rico glared at him noting how fast he'd gotten out of the building. He could see Van Dorn was in agreement. Jones seemed nonplussed by his handling of the situation, though didn't seem to have expected anything different. Was he really that predictable that the ex-police captain wasn't even going to act shocked?

"I'm the last person she'd want to talk to." He replied setting off on the walk through the back streets towards the penthouse he'd moved back in to until the whole Dale-McSlade matter was dealt with. Private had only barely escaped being taken with them and he didn't want to risk that happening again.

"You know I found some nifty little devices in my room today," Van Dorn tactically changed the topic of conversation.

"'eah, jus' like the ones ya planted in mine," Rico grumbled, though as usual was ignored. Unfortunately the logic was sound as to why he was still there.

"You know McSlade's buying Consolidated Amalgamated?" he added, handing Kowalski the almost impossibly small metal device he'd found in his room for examination, "In other words, your tech. The stuff that, unfortunately for us, doesn't blow up when you try to use it?"

"What else can he buy?" Kowalski replied indifferently.

"Well they seize your assets when they bring you in, so don't think you can sit in jail collecting money from both sides," Van Dorn commented dryly.

"If I were convicted of what they accuse me of my assets would be the least of my worries." Kowalski replied, putting a damp rag over the whole situation. Kowalski often found it helped to remind himself what he always had at stake lest he become too arrogant. Sometimes he wondered, though, if his life publicly hung in the balance if it might tempt Doris out of hiding, "I simply see no reason to waste time playing up an obvious irony for your own personal amusement."

"Anyway, we need to know what McSlate's up to or we can only sit around and wonder what he's going to try next," Van Dorn spoke, ever the unsinkable cork, "I don't like being on the defensive."

"'S only one way we can do that." Rico grinned.

"A brief glance through his filing cabinet?" Jones asked hopefully. Van Dorn rolled his eyes before glancing over at the oldest two members of their makeshift team.

"Has he always been this naïve?"

* * *

"Not again!" McSlade screamed for all he was worth. Jones had picked himself out a dark corner of the chilly storage area Kowalski had cleared and was keeping his head turned to the corrugated steel wall and away from the scene commencing in the centre of the room. It was only a few miles beyond the city limits however it was in the middle of a field and the nearest glimpse of civilization was miles out of earshot. They'd ditched their trail too, and Kowalski had made them all change vehicles twice in case someone had placed trackers in them.

It was amazing, really. McSlade had been holed up tight in one of the Departments testing weapons testing facilities. Fortunately, Kowalski, having spent a great deal of his time there before Operation: Join and Destroy, was as good a guide as Jones had been for Department headquarters. With someone to coordinate them, namely Skipper – Jones realized inadvertently he'd been thinking in the name and had barely caught himself a few times saying Skipper instead of Van Dorn, as equally he'd been referring to himself in his thoughts as 'Private' – they'd worked with the ease and efficiency the once had before. Skipper had taken on the role as easily as if he'd been doing it all his life, which he had, Skipper had explained, as he worked with his own subordinates in a similar manor.

McSlade screamed again and Jones visibly shuddered. Kowalski, noticing this, offered for him to go wait outside but somehow Jones felt if he was going to stand by and allow such things to happen he shouldn't shy away from the blood of it. He'd thrown up once at the beginning, but he'd managed to control himself as of late.

"Aw, he ain' say'n nothin'!" Rico exclaimed in exasperation, storming out. Skipper looked at Kowalski quizzically though Kowalski seemed to see nothing out of the ordinary and started after the man to calm him down.

"Let's give the Commissioner some thinking time, Van Dorn," Kowalski ordered as he left and in knee jerk reaction Skipper attempted to protest. Kowalski caught his eye, though, and he piped down and left the building leaving Jones alone with McSlade in silence.

"Ca… Captain?" McSlade's broken lips managed to mouth after the others were gone. Jones looked up from the wall in acknowledgement, as hard as it was, but it was only polite.

McSlade hung from the ceiling, his right wrist attached by a rusted pair of handcuffs and his left clinging to the chain to ease the load off his right. If Rico had looked a sorry sight when they brought him back McSlade wasn't anywhere near the same scale. Blood streamed from his face and body and his whole form was the very picture of fatigue. A barrage of guilt hit Jones head on, especially as some of the choice weapons Rico had used to inflict the wounds were still left on the blood spattered floor.

"Yes, Commissioner?" He replied politely after a few seconds, mastering his fear.

"Get me down!" He half sobbed, "You're a good guy, Jones, you're not like them…" Jones downcast eyes seemed to dig themselves further into the cement floor, "You're an officer of the law, Jones, you can't let…"

"Alright." Jones interrupted, though he hadn't needed coaxing in the first place. He'd just had to gather his wits so as to keep his dinner down. He grabbed the key from a hook on the wall and took his stool with him, setting it under the Commissioner's feet. It didn't do much good as when he turned the key in the lock and the cuffs released McSlade's legs were too weak to support his weight. Jones tried to ease his fall, but the man was a good deal heavier than his slight frame, "I'm dreadfully sorry!" he immediately apologised as the man cried out in pain having landed on an either broken or bruised rib.

The man whimpered on the floor as Jones tried to clean the wounds with water from a nearby tap though McSlade didn't seem to notice his attempts to assist him through his pain. Jones remembered once Skipper, the first skipper, had remarked to the effect that it amazed him what Rico could do with so few tools.

"Why did you start all this, sir?" Jones questioned as he attempted to bandage some of the nastier looking cuts with a first aid kit he'd found in Rico's backpack, "I'm sorry I might have been a bit threatening the other day in the office, but why did you try to kill me?"

"Not you," McSlade mumbled, "Kowalski…"

"But the Sergeant must have seen me go in?" Jones questioned with naïve honesty. He just didn't understand it. He's meant what he'd said by hoping McSlade would have been an ally. He'd always seemed like one of the nicer types even if he had a rather inflated opinion of himself, "He must have." Jones repeated in a slightly softer tone when McSlade said nothing.

"'m sorry, Jones… 'm sorry!" McSlade burst into almost sobbing, "I had to tell him it was you! He wouldn't have... you know, 'f I told him it was Kowalski!" He continued to mutter apologies as Jones tried to calm him down. As angry as he knew he should be he understood that people could do desperate things when people they cared about were in danger. He ought to know, he'd seen it many times and he could only feel sorry for those people. It was probably why he still couldn't bring himself to condemn Kowalski, though with Skipper it was more a matter of a combination not speaking ill of the dead and fond memories.

"It's alright, I forgive you," Jones soothed as he moved around to the opposite side of the man to clean the cuts there, kneeling next to him with his back to the door, "You almost did some rather nasty things, but you won't do them again will you?"

"It's already in motion!" McSlade burst out again, "All of us, we've all promised… Dale made us put in a stake so we couldn't back out!"

"What kind of stuff? Who are they?" Private asked. So many other people who could be pushed to their limits just like McSlade, so many other people thrown into Kowalski's path. He'd talk to them all, get them out from under Dale's control before Kowalski ever found out about them.

"Lieutenant Roger…"

"Rogah!" Private gasped, then added when McSlade paused, "Oh, do go on."

"Deputy… Deputy…"

"Deputy Thompson?"

"Deputy Leonard," the commissioner corrected, "The Bacall sisters, Ben Rockgut, 'nd Francis Blowhole Jr.…" Suddenly McSlade screamed and Private looked up that the others were back. Rico grinned and from out of nowhere pulled a deadly looking knife as long as Jones' forearm and raised it above his head. Rico's other hand covered Jones' eyes. There was a scream followed by another.

"Dammit, Rico…" Private heard Kowalski start, but didn't finish his sentence. Rico's hand was removed but as Private stood up his head was forced away from the sight. What he could feel though, was a thick warm liquid that had started to seep through the fabric of his trouser knees and he was glad Rico wouldn't let him look. As he was lead outside he heard two shots fired behind him and McSlade went silent.

"We've got to talk about that kind of stuff!" Skipper snapped as soon as they were outside, "I'm not squeamish like Jones here, I've seen worse in my time, but this isn't the kind of stuff I'm going to have either of you doing."

"Me?!" Kowalski exclaimed, "I finished him off!"

"You could have taken him to a hospital and hoped he lived!" Skipper countered.

"Nobody lives through that kind of thing, they could only keep him alive a day or two, it would just be awkward questions," Kowalski replied, "And I'm just as mad as you, I wouldn't wish getting hacked in the side with that knife on anyone!"

"'E trie' ta kill ya!" Rico protested as if trying to justify his actions, "Ah though' ya'd thank me!"

"Both of you are as bad as each other!" Jones interupted, "I'm the only member of what's left of this team who…!"

"If I remember correctly, Private, you betrayed us!" Kowalski cut him off, "So don't start trying to pretend you're any more righteous…"

"Would all of you just quit it?!" Skipper interrupted, and all mouths shut and all eyes turned to him, "I get it, all of you have issues, some of us more than others!" he cast a glance at Rico and Kowalski, "Let's wipe the slate clean on what just happened, but all I was trying to say is I don't want it happening again, comprende?" All three of the original Penguins nodded, "Right, I'm from out of town so I've got no idea what those names he read out were."

"Alright," Kowalski began, "Lieutenant Roger is…"

"He didn't say Roger!" Private cut in. Kowalski rolled his eyes, "He was delirious!"

"Fine, Lieutenant Roger is Private's best friend and is completely innocent so we will ignore the fact his name was ever mentioned," Private smiled but Kowalski didn't return the favour as he removed his clipboard and started to write down the names for future reference, neglecting to note Roger's, "Simon Dale's the loud mouth who started all this, Deputy Prosecutor Leonard I thought I had an understanding with in exchange for confidential psychological treatment but apparently not, the three Bacall sisters are the three second richest people in town and own a competing firm and Ben Rockgut's kinda like Jones' Uncle Nigel except he's still going and trying to create some kind of international spy agency. Francis Blowhole Jr. isn't a problem…"

"'e's Doris' brother." Rico snickered.

"And therefore isn't a problem," Kowalski countered, "He's just a kid who's trying to be a movie star and the next Albert Einstein at the same time. I read one of his papers before that lab assistant of his got to it, his math didn't even add up."

"Are you sure?" Jones asked, "My agent says he destroys fewer inventions than you do."

"Yeah, maybe it's you and the lab assistant that are wrong." Skipper concurred simply to see what Kowalski would say to it.

"I only destroy things when I get too impatient to switch it on to double check my work or I'm working late and forget to carry the two," Kowalski replied haughtily, rather amusingly offended, "Anyway, I didn't think he'd start causing trouble before he finished grad school."

"Blo'hole ain' intimidatin' without 'e 'Dr'." Rico agreed.

"All this sounds like quite the problem for you," Skipper commented. Kowalski returned Skipper's comment with one of those uncomfortable smiles which made it pretty clear Kowalski either knew something nobody else did or was about to trump someone's entire argument.

"For all of us. If they're going after me they're going after you and Pri-Jones…"

"Then I'll head right back to Chicago with Rico and…"

"Did I mention that Rico can't be arrested if you and Jones are under suspicion since your evidence is dubious at best without your combined stellar reputations, and your being under suspicion is directly linked to my being under suspicion," Kowalski replied with a smug smile, "If you would like me to explain the further connotations of that…"

"Bragging, Kowalski!" Skipper interrupted, "We get it, we're in this together."

"Don' ya think th' first step woul' be ta 'et outa here?" Rico interrupted, motioning back to the building, "M'Slate…"

"Yes, I suppose so." Private agreed, not exactly glad to have been reminded of a fact just as he was starting to mercifully block out.

"We'll meet at the Copacabana tomorrow at 0730 and work all this out before they start the man hunt for McSlade," Kowalski replied, "Julian makes too much noise for them to bug the place."

* * *

"Great James Clerk Maxwell!" Jenkins heard Kowalski exclaim loud enough that were Will not staying back at the house under the care of Alex, Kowalski probably would have sent him charging down the stairs in a fright. Since the boy had arrived, around the time his father was killed, Kowalski had stopped shouting out such exclamations of annoyance. Jenkins doubled his pace down the corridor and opened the door of the master bedroom to see Kowalski awkwardly trying to pick up random bits of flotsam and jetsam and various tools on the left side of his bed with his right hand, his left lying motionless by his side. The newspaper Jenkins had left along with a rather messily devoured breakfast lay unusually untouched at the foot of the bed.

"Sir?" Jenkins questioned, looking on at the scene, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise, "Are you quite alright?"

"I paralyzed my left arm last night when the freeze ray malfunctioned," Kowalski complained, "I can't hold my newspaper and annotate it for Barry at the same time without both hands so I've been trying to build something to take notes for me but…"

"I suppose that is also rather difficult to do without two hands," Jenkins finished with a half-smile. He missed the days when he'd be woken up in the middle of the night by Kowalski cursing whatever invention he'd just exploded, "If I may be so bold, might I hold the newspaper and/or take notes?" Kowalski looked at him blankly as if he hadn't thought of that, but it was a pretty good idea, "However, there is someone waiting in the sitting room to see you…"

"Not before I read my newspaper," Kowalski replied, sticking firmly to his routine. Jenkins took a quick glance at the paper as he handed it to his employer and smiled. He'd see this visitor, at least, after he'd gotten a few pages into the paper.

"Hm, I'll have to get Barry to do something like this," Kowalski thought aloud, one in a long list of occasional remarks directed at no one in particular commenting on the content of the newspaper as he took notes, Jenkins steadying the paper as he wrote on it and patiently holding the newspaper, "Consolidated Amalgamated share price dropping, kind of expected… If only Dale would go disappear off the face of the earth…"

Suddenly kowalski dropped his pen, looking like he'd just read the scientific method had been disproven. He grabbed the paper from Jenkins with his good hand, scanning it thoroughly though it wasn't in a section he'd normally read, "Reclusive New York heiress Lucille Chinstrap announces engagement to notorious Kowalski," Kowalski read aloud in sheer horror after spotting the photograph situated next to it, "No confirmation from sources close to… Einstein's…! Alessandro Volta's…!" For once he was stuck without a science related insult, "Dammit, she's gone too far this time!" Kowalski fumed as he tossed the paper angrily across the room, swinging his feet out of the bed and starting for his wardrobe, "Jenkins, get me Lola Knight whatever it takes! I want her in my office within the hour and she is going to explain just what she…"

"If you pardon the interruption, sir," this had been the point Jenkins had been waiting for and only his mastery of the art of buttling prevented him from smirking, "Ms Knight is waiting in the sitting room."

"Of all the! She knew I was…!" Kowalski spluttered grabbing his dressing gown and making several attempts to get it on with his left arm still limp from the shoulder down before Jenkins assisted him with it. Soon enough he stormed out of the bedroom and down the hall entirely forgetting his slippers, much to Jenkins dismay.

**This was a bit of an unusual chapter going from a dark theme to a light one but I wanted to cover the sides of the team I thought I'd missed out or under played in the previous two. I also felt I had to give more weight to Private's dilemma, namely weather or not he should be cooperating with or feeling sympathy for Kowalski. That's something that will come up a bit later, though.**

**I think I'm going to do around a few more chapters in the 60s before I link it back to Jones' disappearance. I've gotten a little side tracked since this was only meant to be a few chapters but I want to make the most of writing this version of Kowalski since I'm starting to regret killing him off.**


	6. The Plan

**Coming to the end of this part (I'd say the next chapter or the one after). **

**Thank you hmbird11 for the regular reviews.**

Rico sat on a stool at the bar of the empty Copacabana though music from a record player was blasting as loud as it probably had the night before with the actual band. Julian was amazingly still dancing and expecting him join in. Private had given it a fair try but after a few minutes had returned exhausted. Some girl, a ballet dancer or something, had told him she was in better shape and more disciplined than he was and so dance was not to be laughed at. He hadn't believed her, but seeing Julian wear Private out and then Skipper, after goading him into the cong-ga-ga after implying that he was refusing to dance due to his lack of skill, was starting to make him agree with her.

He saw Maurice open the door at the opposite end of the nightclub and hold it open for a person who assured that the next couple of minutes of his life were going to be just plain awkward. Still, Lola looked like she'd gotten a nice settlement out of things by the clothes she was wearing – the kind of stuff even the society woman he used to see wouldn't be able to wear too frequently – but he figured it would be smarter if he got out of the way. However he found himself almost knocked from his stool in astonishment at just who's arm she was entwined around as the couple walked up to the table.

Kowalski's expression was as grim as if the judge had ruled the opposite way the day before and as he sat down near the group he mouthed to Rico something along the lines of 'shoot me now.' Rico would have burst out laughing if the current relationship between the two of them didn't suggest he was completely serious.

"Lola, why don't you go get yourself a drink?" Kowalski grumbled.

"It's Lucy, dear, you never know where they have hidden microphones," Lola replied in a similar tone, "And no, I'm staying right here. I have an investment to protect. I don't want you getting yourself killed before you can change your will. Now why don't you introduce me to your handsome young assistant?"

"I'm not his assistant," Skipper replied, too astonished to be insulted by being assumed a subordinate of Kowalski. His eyes narrowed, "And considering the events of yesterday…"

"This is Agent Johnny Van Dorn," Kowalski replied, "and he's probably going to want to ask you some questions afterward since he's working on your case, I'll brief you on it before hand."

"Kowalski have you messed up one too many experiments…?!" Skipper began to ask clearly as confused as the rest of them.

"It's a _long_ story, Van Dorn," Kowalski interrupted in the kind of tone that made it clear there was going to be no further discussion, "far too complex for the non-scientific mind. Now, I've got some options for ways to clear your names…" Kowalski began but Rico's thoughts kept drifting to what could have possibly happened between him and Lola.

* * *

"Darling, your expression and those striped pyjamas are positively adorable." Lola greeted, her voice dripping with sarcasm as Kowalski stormed in, "Nice day, isn't it. Especially with your engagement to that Chinstrap girl…"

"Oh come on Lola, that's a picture of you in a fancy dress!" he snapped.

"Yes very fancy. That dress cost over a thousand dollars of your money," Lola replied, a hint of a victorious smile seeping through her sarcastic expression, "You really shouldn't leave signed checks lying on your desk, someone might just take them and fill them out themselves. Then, let's see, it was another thousand to pay of the nice gentlemen at the department of records, then the fifth avenue apartment was…"

"Stop dodging the point, what are you doing running around calling yourself Lucille Chinstrap?!" Kowalski snapped. Lola just smiled at him. Aside from the fact he and Lola were just two people who were destined never to get along no matter what kind of trauma tried to bring them together or no matter how hard they tried to be friends, and they really had tried if only for the sake of Skipper's memory, what would Doris be thinking? He'd promised her, even if she hadn't heard him as she walked off into the rain that he'd wait for her in case she ever came back, "Aristotle's sardines on toast, what on earth are you doing?!"

"Trying to see my son," Lola replied, "After all, it will be hard to keep me away from him after we're married."

"We are _not_ getting married!"

"Don't look so horrified, it's not like it has to be any more than on paper. Think of it as a way to increase my allowance without suspicion."

"Lola, I would not marry you even if we never had to as much as see each other if you had the meaning of life and the secrets of the universe!"

"Ok, let me put it this way" Lola uncrossed her legs, leaning inelegantly forward like some of the business people he dealt with, her elbows resting on her knees, "You like probability and statistics, right?"

"Right." Kowalski replied, watching her closely. This would be about the time she'd go after the Space Squid mind control gear if she wasn't just bluffing.

"Let me put it this way. If Doris really still remembers you and hasn't been reading about all your horrible hypothetical exploits she'll already be driving down from wherever she is just about as angry and confused as you were after reading that article," Lola explained, "Even if she's in Europe and doesn't read the American papers either her father or her brother will tell her. Now of course if she's met someone else and never intends to see you again nothing will happen and under normal circumstances you'll throw yourself into some kind of horrible depression. Is my prediction accurate?"

"Get. To. The. Point."

"Well, if I win and Doris doesn't turn up you can still plunge into your depression but marry me so I can see my son, and if you do go charging recklessly into stuff after that like you types always do when they world comes crashing down on you he'll finally be mine and I'll inherit your ill-gotten gains. After all, I'm technically not his mother anymore. Really, it's a win win, well, I win, you don't lose anything," Lola smiled saccharinely sweetly, "Well, how about it?"

"Not as long as space and time are a continuum."

"Fine, I'm not going to testify against Rico."

"What?!" Kowalski exclaimed Lola's words hitting him like a truck for the second time this morning, "If you don't testify…"

"He doesn't get convicted and Van Dorn will have to release him. The first thing he'll do is go after you, and after the two of you finish each other off, I get Will. The only point you lose is where you're a) dead and b) Tony will never be avenged."

"You're lying. You want Rico dead as much as I do."

"I want him dead more than you do, but I want my son more than that," Lola took out a folded piece of paper from her pocket and placed it on the table, "Just sign on the dotted line, you know how to do that right, or do I have to explain that as well?" She could see Kowalski's eyes scanning the contract sceptically, "It's simple, you agree to marry me unless Doris turns up and in turn I agree to testify against Rico." Kowalski glared at the pen she placed in front of him, then at her.

"And you say I'm evil."

* * *

"No! I won't go through with that!" Private protested fiercely, almost banging his fist on the bar, "That's just… not ethical!"

"Ah like it." Rico grinned which meant about the same thing.

"I… um," Private could see Skipper's pride vying with his emotions as his eyes darted to the top left corner of the room and he stood with his fingers tying themselves in knots behind his back, "I'm completely indifferent! Right!" he added just in case anyone else was unsure.

"It's too risky, I don't like it," Lola replied, coolly taking a drag from her cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke, "Even if you gave me Will right now… No, too many possible complications."

Even Private was too distressed by Kowalski's proposal to press the fact several people who were quite adamant they either wanted Kowalski to just drop dead or didn't give a damn actually apparently cared more than they revealed. Kowalski had only sketched out the brief strokes of the plan, something about the bribing Deputy DA, but already none of them liked it. There were a lot of angles Kowalski had been unclear about, and considering the fact he usually went into excruciating unnecessary detail it probably meant he was as unclear as they were or the details would make them even less likely to play along.

"Well, do you like the other option where we all throw ourselves on the mercy of trumped up evidence any better?" Kowalski countered, "I understand some of us may be scared," That one was directed quite obviously at Skipper, who scowled but didn't change his position, "and others may be worried about having to ruin one of Dale's conspirators but I'm sure there are ways Private can rationalize this given enough time." Kowalski eyed them all individually, though left out Lola which annoyed her more than a little, "Anyway, I've already made the arrangements…"

"Um, excusing me, but you might want to start running," Julian whispered, "Like now-ish?"

"Sorry?" Private questioned, not quite understanding the message.

"Well, there is the Alligator…"

"Rogah?"

"Yes, Mort is doing de stalling…" Julian winced in explanation but was interrupted by an ear piercing squeal that could only come from one person. Sure enough the small odd jobs boy Julian kept around – he'd mentioned they were related or something but had never been specific – tumbled down the small steps that lead from the area where the coat check girl's booth was into the main nightclub.

"No!" He shouted, scrambling to his feet and standing with his arms outstretched as if to block the man who was advancing towards them, though with an apology the man gently brushed him aside. Mort wasn't done yet though, and continued almost hanging from the man's trench coat as he tried to drag him back to the exit all the while screaming, "No! No! King Julian said you are not invited!"

"Gosh it's 0800 on a Friday morning," Kowalski commented glancing at his watch, "It seems they've found a replacement for you, Roger's taken over my ceremonial weekly arrest."

"I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news," Roger apologised grimly, "But I'm afraid it's more serious than that."

"Wait a minute…" Kowalski continued musingly as if not having heard Roger, "You've already arrested me twice in the last week, this must be more serious…"

"You're all, except for Lola, under arrest for the murder of Commissioner Purvis McSlade, " Roger announced. He glanced uncomfortably across the group, "As far as I'm concerned everyone but him," and everyone knew _him_ meant Kowalski, "made it out the door before I got here."

Kowalski nodded, a wave of his hand motioning that as far as he was concerned the others had left hours ago. However his attitude was now more serious than it had been on previous such attempts at charging him with something and he seemed to readopt that stoniness that Private had been so glad to see him lose.

"Rogah," Private interrupted noticing the curious almost wink Kowalski gave him. Suddenly the puzzle pieces started to fit together. The plan had to be going wrong! Kowalski had never said anything about actually _being_ arrested, "Can I speak to you a moment?" he hopped off his stool and rushed up to Roger whispering a few ears into his friend's ear. Roger nodded and nothing else was said as Kowalski followed Roger out into the media storm outside.

* * *

Jones' boots echoed on the cement floors of Hoboken penitentiary. He was almost at the end of the solitary confinement block where Kowalski was held. They'd noticed a peculiar thing about him and Skipper, the first, in recent years: they seemed to have an inspiring effect on their fellow prisoners and could even start riots on a mere suggestion.

Warden Francis Alberta stood outside the cell at the end, practically dancing with the excitement at the prestige she was getting for having successfully held Kowalski for over twenty four hours, which was a good weapon against the constant attempts to undermine her career as being a warden wasn't a 'woman's job' something Skipper had quickly articulated after Private mentioned her in his description of the prison. The two of them probably got on well, even if eventually she'd drive Kowalski to the point of insanity with her flitting movements and her nasal voice.

"Congratulations Commissioner." She greeted annoyingly cheerily.

"Thanks', ma'am," Private replied formally, "can I talk to him?"

"If there's anything else he can say to hang himself more..." she smirked, and then added, "there were some gadgets in his pockets, I'm working on a little project of mine with some of the prisoners…"

"No, he might want them back." Private replied. A sour frown grew on the woman's face. With a sniff that left her nose up in the air she unlocked the door.

"Very well!" she stood with her hands on her hips and locked the door behind private.

"Do you know how long it would take me to get out of here?" Kowalski asked with his 'boasting smirk' a kind of half smile that would grow as the victim of his need to constantly prove his intellectual prowess grew more and more confused.

"No." Private replied.

"Fifteen minutes." He replied, setting down the book he'd been reading, "Faster if Alberta scores as high on the sissy charts as I think she does."

"You're making that up!" Private protested.

"Not at all," Kowalski replied, "I designed this place and the Aquarium too, remember? Don't you think I'd have built in a fault in case I was ever incarcerated here?" The 'boasting smile' showed itself again, "It's having a contingency for everything, Private, no matter how unreasonable. That's why you'll never be able to beat me."

"You shouldn't count your chickens before they've hatched." Private commented.

"I've counted the chickens, the ones that will hatch and which of those will die before they reach adolescence then predicted the lives of the chickens that come five generations after them." Kowalski replied, "Anyway, you made commissioner, congratulations. I, of course, wouldn't have anything to do with that." Private frowned. Kowalski's tone made it pretty clear he at least believed he was the direct cause of the fact when he saw Roger arrive at his door and expected to be arrested he was then told he'd been promoted to McSlade's job in both the NYPD and the Department. However, that was impossible. Kowalski was in Hoboken.

"I don't quite follow." Private opted to reply diplomatically.

"Oh come now Private, would I really still be here, would I be here in the first place, if I didn't want to be?" Kowalski scoffed, "I think you're the only one who didn't know that, but I did try to tell you I was tweaking the plan. You know even Francis was wondering if I was here to make an architectural inspection or to help her with her little project. The dame almost fainted when I told her I was there to do nothing of the sort, but put two and two together when I told her there were a few people here I wanted to talk to."

"Why did you make me Commissioner?" Private asked.

"It's mostly classified," Kowalski replied, " but I want you on my side if Lola starts to get greedy," Kowalski elaborated in a more serious tone, "You seem to be the only one who understands what an education can mean to a child and the lengths that sometimes have to be gone to in order to achieve that." Private considered this than nodded grimly, "Anyway, I've almost finished my book and I've done what I have to here."

"Well, they don't exactly allow bail for…"

"I swear, Private, it's like you started the job yesterday," Kowalski sighed, "Just give it a try, maybe it will surprise you what happens…"

"No, Kowalski." Private interrupted firmly. Kowalski found the tone suspiciously like one trying to train a dog, "I'm grateful to you for getting me the job, but I'm not a contact. You're going to get a fair trial, I'll see to that, but you'll get nothing more out of me in my official capacity. As far as I'm concerned…No." Private suddenly stopped mid speech. His weight transferred to the wall behind him as he almost fainted on to it.

"What's wrong?" Kowalski frowned, "You were about to say things were going to just go back to the way they were."

"Kowalski…" Private's eyes brimmed almost with tears, "they just can't go back to they were before! They just can't!"

"Why not?" Kowalski replied, "Van Dorn says back in Chicago he and a guy called Hans are frenenemies and they get on just fine."

"Kowalski, it was horrid for me!" Private protested, his arms clasped around himself in a defensive, almost childlike version of folded arms as he tried not to cry, "I've always been afraid of something like this where they'd arrest you and… I don't like fighting you! I don't!"

"Kid…" Kowalski started uncomfortably, not quite sure what to make of the situation. He hadn't been happy either, and despite what he told his men he always aimed a little to the right of Private's head and blamed it on the gun. He'd been through eight or nine decent weapons with that excuse.

"I didn't ever think I'd hear myself say this," Private spoke, meeting Kowalski's eyes, "But I'd rather sacrifice my morals, learn to stomach a little more… Oh, I'd rather join you than keep this up!"

It was then the realization hit Kowalski as to just what the kid was saying as was pretty clear to Private when he didn't automatically return a reply. Kowalski kind of just sat there, completely stunned, and Private knew what he looked like when he was stunned.

"Maybe if I learn your trick I'll be able to do it," Private tried to force a chuckle from his lips but it appeared only as a tear he quickly tried to wipe away, "I mean, if I asked you ten years ago if you could do what you did to McSlade…" His voice trailed off as it became too choked to be dignified, "Well, what do you say, boss?"

"Well," Kowalski replied and paused on his words as he tried to get a more indifferent tone out of his voice, "As a businessman, I'd say that I'd say that having betrayed me once I wouldn't be able to trust you."

Private didn't see it such was his attention to keeping himself together but Kowalski's expression melted ever so slightly. He didn't even notice until a hand that had not rested comfortingly on his shoulder for almost fifteen years did just that, "As someone I hope you'll never call a friend, I wouldn't wish this life on anyone. Certainly not you."

"I don't really care!" Private protested, "You always used to look after me…"

"And I'm doing that right now," Kowalski replied firmly, "Where me and Skipper had money and girls you had your principles. Anyway, I think you'd look pretty stupid trying to compete with Barry," The way the boy gripped his hand. It reminded him of the first night the boy had been away from home and he'd had an attack of home sickness. Kowalski had actually tripped over him staring out the window of the HQ in the dark sneaking back from the lab, "It wouldn't be the same if you worked for me, anyway, we wouldn't be friends, I'd be…" He predicted Private would try and protest that he'd always been higher ranked than Private, so changed his argument, "I couldn't be seen to care anymore than I can now. Maybe we can work out something else though…"

"Times up!" Alberta's shrill voice echoed into the cell, "I said you had fifteen minutes!"

"Yes, certainly." Private replied composing himself and Kowalski went back to his book. However, just before the warden opened the door he slipped Jones a piece of paper folded like a letter. Since it was obviously something he didn't want said aloud in proximity to Alberta Private acted as if he hadn't noticed the action and walked out of the cell.

* * *

"Have you lost your mind?!" Leonard the Deputy DA exclaimed. Private watched calmly as his face went from a pale grey caused by the ever present downy stubble on his face to pink to scarlet. The small – yes, it wasn't often he noticed someone not taller than him and so despite his intentions always seemed to notice this – slightly pudgy man glared up at him, his hands on his hips and his eyes betraying his usual lack of sleep. He was really struggling without Kowalski, "Do you want to get us all killed?!"

"Listen, tiny," Van Dorn spoke seated on the man's desk as if he owned it with that carefree attitude of his, though he'd added a slightly sharper tone to his voice ot intimidate the man which Private found frankly more than a little amusing, "You didn't seem to think much of double crossing your second pay check when you signed with Dale so…"

"But that's the point!" Leonard protested, shooing Van Dorn off his personal property, "If I do this by the book like you want it's not just Kowalski who's going to come after me, Dale wants me to throw things in his direction… Can't you appreciate the position in? I'm standing smack bang in the middle of the crossfire!"

"Yeah, by _absolutely_ no fault of your own." Van Dorn commented smugly. Leonard glared at him, "You know you're saying that to the people who their aiming at, right?"

"I wish you'd look at your position more carefully," Private finally spoke having exhausted his study of Leonard's face, "Dale wants rather drastic results and we're quite happy to let you say it's us standing in the way."

"And it's not like Kowalski's gonna break out and go after you," Skipper added, "That'd put Will in the public eye, something he doesn't want."

"We aren't asking for a conviction and we aren't asking for an acquittal," Jones explained diplomatically, "All we want is a fair trial."

"But what's your side in this?" Leonard asked skeptically, "You Penguin – ex penguin," he corrected on Private's insistence, "…types always have something up your sleeve."

"I want my reputation cleared so I can finish up the Knight case," Skipper replied.

"I'm not taking a side," Private answered, "I'm simply carrying out my duty as I can only be expected to."

"Well, look, I'll do this," Leonard was almost hyperventilating, "but it's all on you! Anything that happens, it's on you two and I'll make sure it's that way!"


	7. Evidence

Anyone who liked to follow the news or even would only glance at the front page of a newspaper occasionally would tell you that Kowalski always looked completely at ease in even the blackest situations. It was the same kind of vaguely amused expression that was on his face as he watched the evidence pile up against him, one on top of another. He didn't even move a muscle as an Officer Smith – or so he claimed was his name, but Kowalski wasn't so sure so had taken to calling him 'Officer X' – described how he'd been there the whole time and had witnessed the murder from start to finish from the edge of the road where his beat ended. It was pretty unlikely somebody's beat was a dirt track in the middle of nowhere.

Next came the ballistics people with what they claimed was the murder weapon. In reality it had been Kowalski's pocket until the arrest when he quietly entrusted Julian to pass it on to Jenkins. Jenkins had received it.

Naturally on this he tried to challenge that wondering why they would do something so easily if he just produced the actual weapon, if tampered with, however when he was oddly enough permitted to examine it he saw the word 'Private' etched into the handle. He glared at Leonard whose eyes were fixed like a statue on anywhere but him. Private was good at making up evidence: he couldn't question the weapon's authenticity without dragging Will into the matter.

The good part was that Rico was going down with him, but oddly enough they'd found a beautiful set of his prints on the knife as well, though he'd never handled it. In fact, he'd seen Van Dorn wipe the handle and blade clean.

Leonard even braved the terror that was Julian and got him to – after thirty minutes of questioning and incoherent replies – to admit that he'd heard Kowalski say that McSlade was becoming a problem. He'd said no such thing, and he hadn't been to the Copacabana until after McSlade was dead but you could get Julian to say anything if he thought it would get him in the papers.

As Kowalski was lead out of the court after the adjournment Barry ran up to him. They whispered a few words between each other and glances were cast in Leonard's direction. Barry nodded crisply and then set off after the turncoat prosecutor. It was child's play to remain out of sight and to put his ear to the keyhole as the man entered his office.

"I can't do it!" Leonard shouted so loud Barry probably could have heard if he were listening from the opposite side of the building, "He's going to come after me! I can feel it!" Make that the other side of the world.

"Just introduce the mission report," the smug, confident drawl of Johnny 'Skipper' – so he called himself – Van Dorn coaxed, "It's practically a signed confession. Hell, we can get him to sign it if you want. We've got his signature on file somewhere?"

"Yes, I think so." The softer voice of the Englishman replied. And this was what he always told Kowalski: the kid's not anywhere as naïve and righteous as you think. The fact he seems like a boy scout only means when he pulls his coup it'll only be more devastating.

"I'm not going to…!" Leonard began to protest, but Commissioner Jones cut him off.

"Leonard," he spoke, "McSlade named you on the list of conspirators."

"Kowalski heard that list," Van Dorn added, "But I didn't think we'd have to remind you of that."

"Look, I'll introduce the evidence and put the Commissioner on the stand," the nervous man replied hurriedly in response to the threat, "We'll just tweak things a little and ask for manslaughter…"

"Murder, Leonard, we want him on murder," Van Dorn countered firmly, "First degree."

"Now I don't think that would be wise…" Leonard tried again.

"I've convinced K'walski your name was a mistake, and he trusts me," Jones cut the man off again, "Don't make me tell him _I_ was the one mistaken."

"Ok!" Leonard snapped, and Barry could see him rubbing his neck uncomfortably through the key hole, "You've got me." Immediately Barry sprang to his nimble feet and raced off to tell Kowalski just who it was planting the evidence, but after searching aimlessly for hours, Jones always moving Kowalski one or two steps ahead of him, Barry found the sun coming up and soon enough it was too late.

* * *

Skipper looked through the notes he'd taken on his interview with Maurice who seemed to be the only sane person in the building. It was better than sitting around waiting at Consolidated Amalgamated. Will was always there, staring up at him with his big blue eyes and asking if he'd do target practice with him. He'd offered him board games though Jenkins said they didn't own any, then he offered him just about anything under the sun, but the kid either didn't know it or said it wasn't allowed. The Manfredi kid who turned up was a little more normal but there was something off about the both of them. He'd never understand how Kowalski could do this to a kid.

"Walk me through it, all of it," Skipper had ordered and Maurice had walked him through every detail from when the fight had started, to when Mort had hurriedly shielded Will's young eyes from the sight of his dying father to when Kowalski had appeared on the scene. He'd asked him about that. There was a lot of evidence that should have been there but he couldn't find and he'd been baffled by the lack of proper documentation of an autopsy though one had clearly taken place. Maurice had explained it, though: Kowalski had wanted to make the inspection of the scene himself and had gotten first choice on what evidence he wanted.

"And what about before the accident?" his almost verbatim notes recorded him questioning, "Were there any similar incidents? Did Rico scout out the place before he went after Grant?"

"No, he hadn't been there for weeks," Maurice had replied, "I noticed because he'd originally been the one to pick up their cut. I asked Kowalski, and he said Rico had been put on another assignment. I figured Tony hadn't liked the attention he was paying Lola and ordered him off."

"So you knew Tony Knight was Skipper at the time?" He'd reacted incredulously.

"I was never 100% but it seemed pretty obvious, and even though I knew he meant well I always kept an eye on him because of it," Maurice smiled cannily and Van Dorn wondered just what he was reading in to _him_, "I suppose you're wondering about how Kowalski fits in to all this." He was spot on, "Ever since the plane crash Kowalski would turn up every once and a while to check on them. At first he said he wanted to make sure Lola was alright after the crash, but it wasn't much of an excuse and when it started to get hard to believe he took over the collections from Rico."

Somehow these details interested Skipper and he was still going over them in his mind. Everyone seemed to agree on what had happened during the actual killing and they agreed on these small facts too though some people's memories seemed to be tweaked with, "I knew there was something wrong with him! I told Lola!" However Maurice seemed to really mean what he'd said and he'd heard it from a couple of other people that he'd watched Tony like he did, not suspiciously, but watched him. There was something about those details that stuck in his mind, though. Maybe there was something else to it, or maybe he was just so fascinated by a man who seemed to have been some kind of dark reflection of himself.

Skipper went to knock on the door of the familiar mansion intending to get some stuff he'd left at Kowalski's place – he had a warrant, it was perfectly fine for him to bug the place, even if he doubted he'd gotten away with it long – and intended to ask Jenkins for his equipment when the door opened suddenly, his knuckles almost knocking on the person who was in such a hurry to rush out the door.

Lola froze, her hand still grasping the child's wrist. It was pretty clear what she was doing.

"What are you doing?" Skipper demanded despite this conclusion. Lola glared at him.

"We both know what your plan is, and I can't take the risk he dies before I get the kid," Lola replied firmly.

"So you're just taking him?"

"Why not?" she replied haughtily

"Do you really think you'll get very far?"

"You'd be surprised what I'm able to do," She replied. Van Dorn rolled his eyes. She reminded him a lot of his Arlene back in Chicago. That was precisely why he'd gotten rid of her, that, and the fact she was spying on him for Rico. Well, he didn't know… but it was obvious.

"Yeah, well you'll be surprised by how many ways I can come up with to get you to put him back," Van Dorn countered, "And you _will_ put him back."

"Miss Chinstrap," The kid interrupted with his big blue eyes looking up at the two of them, "What's going on?"

"Did you here that?" Lola demanded with a quaver of emotion to her voice as her scowl became dominantly heartbroken, "He doesn't even recognize me…" Van Dorn remained unmoved, "Listen to this!" She snapped, and turned to the kid, picking a less powerful scowl and a sweeter tone for his benefit, "Will, would you tell the policeman who I am?"

"He's not police, ma'am, he's FBI, there's a difference," the boy corrected, then answered the question, "You're sir's girlfriend. Manfredi says he just wants your money though, and that you'll have an accident afterwards. I don't see why he can predict you'll have an accident, but he's usually right."

"See?!" Lola pleaded, "Look what he's done to him! How he talks so calmly about…"

"I know, and I don't like it either. It's pretty damn sick in my opinion," Skipper interrupted , "But you aren't going anywhere with that kid."

"'id goes with 'er." Rico interrupted firmly and Van Dorn only just noticed him through the doorway behind Lola. That was what spooked him most about working with the Penguins. It didn't matter if they were just meeting for coffee or something but they'd appear out of nowhere. They'd disappear just as fast afterwards too.

"You don't want that to happen, trust me." Skipper countered but Rico was quite adamant.

"Le' 'er go."

Skipper couldn't let that happen. Still, Lola had stepped aside and Rico now had a clear shot at him. It would take him a fraction of a second to pull something out of the arsenal every inch of him was and he'd taken far better men than Skipper by force. But he couldn't let Lola take the kid.

"Alright, you've got me." Van Dorn spoke, raising his hands in defeat. Rico grinned.

"Just put him with Jenkins, don't hurt him," Lola requested, "By the time he gets loose I'll be long gone," She offered the Rico a slight smile, "thanks for Will…" Rico replied with a meaningful grunt as he beckoned Skipper into the house.

"'Orry." He muttered to Skipper as he removed the colt everyone knew Skipper carried in the inside pocket of his coat and proceeded to tie Skipper's hands expertly behind his back.

Considered unarmed and harmless, he was cast aside by Rico whose attention was more focused on Lola who was ushering her young charge towards a waiting car. She opened the door and Will hopped cheerfully inside and she was about to get in herself.

"G'luck." Rico called after her.

"Same." She replied with a grudging half smile. She seemed to be warming to him, "I suppose it wasn't really your…"

"It was," Rico apologised, "'m never gonna fo'get that or…"

"Hold it right there, doll," Van Dorn ordered, and both Lola and Rico stared at him in surprise. Van Dorn was stood, his hands free, a small pen knife he'd had hidden in his sleeve in one hand and the gun he'd pickpocketed from Rico in the other and aimed directly at Lola, "Lose the coat and the back pack." He ordered and the man disarmed himself. Almost immediately Rico made a grab for Skipper's weapon but instead of fighting to keep it – something he'd only lose because he wasn't going to pretend he could hold himself in a fight with any of the Penguins – threw it out of the window and into a rose bush where it would be impractical to try to retrieve.

Now this was where he was going to have to use that simple psychology his grandfather had given him back when he'd seen his first sheep and it had come after the peanut brittle in his pocket (he was a city kid, sheep looked like aliens to him), or that his teacher had used to explain the gigantic wings/spine things the frilled lizard would hold up.

"I'm guessing you heard about me in Chicago since your little social club's known for its intelligence. You probably heard about that big fight of mine against the Polar Bear at the precinct," The 'Polar Bear' was actually one of those quiet types that like to read a book when he was off shift; one of those nicknames like 'Little John'.

"'eah." Rico replied. He couldn't admit the fact he'd never heard of such a fight unless he wanted to confess his intelligence network was actually substandard.

"Now we can fight it out. Maybe you'll win, most likely I will or we can do a deal." Rico frowned. This wasn't what Skippers were supposed to do when caught between a rock and a hard place, "You're trying to say sorry to Lola for orphaning her kid, and I respect that. But this afternoon when Kowalski's acquitted and my reputation's cleared I'm bringing you in same as Kowalski was, but this time there'll be no safety net or crazy plan. It will just be you, your very unsympathetic story, a history of being in the same place as the scene of a list of murders as long as my arm and a jury.

"Now if the kid stays, you can take the next train to wherever you want and I'll take another one back to Chicago and we'll probably never see each other again. I don't give much of a damn about my reputation since I've already got an offer from Ben Rockgut and he doesn't care either. Or, you can fight it out with me, and I'll bring you in on that lovely murder charge and after Lola's got her kid she'll turn on you and that will be that."

"Wha' if ah win?" Rico questioned, trying to play Van Dorn's intimidation card back at him.

"You win, Lola runs, you run, but you're forgetting I'm not a crazed loner like Officer X. I've got pals better than me and they'll come after you along with Kowalski and all of his people. You think you've had to keep checking behind you when you walk down the street, you have no idea what would happen if you go for another dead Skipper. Remember, I'm the guy who got Kowalski to laugh for the first time after six years. He likes me."

Skipper could see Lola's eyes pleading with Rico, and as the suspense continued, her words. Rico was the only thing standing between her and Van Dorn, and even though Van Dorn knew he'd never raise a hand to a woman, Lola didn't. For his own piece of mind and personal honour Rico needed Lola's approval or at least, decreased apathy. Still, Skipper knew a thing or two about honour, but if you put enough on the line, people like Rico would crack. Sure enough, he did.

"Y' on your own, Lo'a." he finally replied, starting towards the door. Van Dorn smiled as Lola saw no choice but to tell Will they were not going on a field trip today. She shot him one last glare as he took Will's hand and said that they were going to have a scavenger hunt.

"Is Jenkins the objective, sir?" the kid had asked.

"Yeah, well, that's one way to put it." He'd replied awkwardly. The way that kid would speak always put him off.

"I'm hungry, though, if it's not an Alpha priority assignment..."

"I think we should go find Jenkins first." Creepy.

* * *

Newspapers across the city, or possibly even the country would be printing extras in a matter of hours. In the seconds after it happened you could see the crowds decrease as reporters observing the case all fought to get to a pay phone first. The whole thing was an outrage or a sensation depending on who you asked and had come entirely out of the blue to everyone. Well, everyone except two people in the courtroom and two people waiting at Grand Central for a train to Chicago.

"Justice is blind," the new commissioner had started his speech as he stood in the witness box, "I've always taken that to heart. And though I, and possibly a lot of people, will wish I'd held my tongue and pretended I hadn't found out about this until it was too late for it to matter, that belief is what's preventing me." Leonard's face had grown white with fear and the judge the audience, the witnesses and the court recorder were all on the edge of their seats hardly believing what he was obviously about to say, "The fingerprints, the mission report and the gun are all planted, tampered with and entirely false. Kowalski was never near there."

Jones had elegantly described how he'd found all this out from a tip and though it pained him to investigate an old friend like Leonard he'd still had to do it. Leonard had screamed and protested that it had been Jones who'd forced him to introduce the false evidence and public sympathy had begun to wane until…

"…You made that beautiful speech about how the same blind justice would be dealt out to me too," Kowalski finished, watching the people charging about the steps like headless chickens from the side street, most likely looking for him. Private had asked him why he didn't just go out and meet them but Kowalski said that by disappearing for a while he could write a half decent statement and make sure it didn't conflict with anyone else's.

"It's just like old times, isn't it," Private commented nostalgically, "You know, where we do completely crazy stuff to save each other's necks. Mostly your crazy ideas too, I've come to recognise them over the years."

"Well, I figured I could do one more for the good guys," Kowalski replied with a grudging smile, "Anyway, since I'm in such an honest mood I'll tell you it wasn't my idea, even though I'll deny that later. I'd just wanted to lay some evidence in your favour about or make Dale disappear off the map but Barry told me we had to fight press with press and to do that we'd have to do something bigger than Dale."

"I do wish you could have told me other than in that envelope," Jones commented, "It seemed a shame to set up Leonard…"

"Oh, I'll get him off. It will teach him not to play with fire."

"But you're right, we had to do something big, and you were in no danger." Private frowned slightly.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just wondering what things are going to be like now," Private mused, "I'm going to have to keep my promise about coming down just as hard on you, and you're going to have to retaliate with something…"

Suddenly Private realised Kowalski was no longer focused on him but staring with an almost comical grin like a love sick puppy into the crowd.

Kowalski watched for a few seconds, but whoever it was had disappeared almost as fast as they'd appeared. He pulled out his clip board and scribbled something on it, tore the page out and handed it to Private, "Give this to Lola," he ordered distractedly before running off into the crowd after whoever he'd seen. The note consisted of two words:

"You lose."

Private would never forget that smile of Kowalski's. Even Lola would grudgingly admit when she came barging into the office fuming about what Kowalski had done that he deserved some happiness, "Maybe she'll talk some sense into him." She added before leaving.

* * *

"It's scary, this guy," Kowalski whispered to his friend as they approached the room, "I could have sworn he was you!"

"I look that old?" Skipper countered. The scientist flushed.

"I didn't mean to say, you well, looked old, well, not that he looks old, he's in pretty decent shape and even then he's not like…"

"I'm just messing with you, Kowalski," Skipper laughed, his 'friendly pat on the back' making Kowalski stumble a few steps and readjust his glasses.

"I wish you'd warn me." the victim of the joke muttered.

"Then it would be no fun." Skipper commented before ending the conversation as he opened the door to Buck Rockgut's office.

"So you finally get here, cupcake," Skipper's controller commented sarcastically with that tone of voice he always used, like he was permanently making announcements to a parade ground. The people in the offices next door would often complain to skipper about that, but when Skipper brought the matter up he was given the following message to relay to them: "Go jump in the lake."

It had taken him and Kowalski a couple of weeks after things had calmed down following the whole Penguin fiasco to work out their command issues. Skipper had never known Kowalski felt that being part of the team had made his career stagnate as well as the fact he considered him incompetent. Kowalski had a pretty damn good argument to some people: he was better trained and actually had some decent military experiance. Well, there'd been only one way to put Kowalski in his place: after one day of leaving Kowalski in charge of things so he could complete the highly prestigious PELT course he was begging Skipper to come back after he got the whole team frozen in giant ice blocks. He still called him 'Golden boy', though, but only when he got angry.

He'd never really understood how Kowalski had felt until he met Buck Rockgut. The two had gotten off to a pretty bad start from the beginning after Rockgut been the representative of a competing agency to send Director Jones packing and get himself installed in his place. Still, they'd tried to make a go at a fresh start and the guy had a seriously impressive record. They really weren't so alike in a lot of ways: they'd both been trained for the job since almost the day they were born, they both had stellar success rates and specialized in unusual situations and both of them had gotten to their current jobs so fast because their respective and deceased dads had been involved and both of them hated the fact.

He might be considered young and hot headed – but certainly not naïve which was true of both of them – but he wasn't quite _that_ young and hot headed. When Skipper had come back to the HQ after meeting with the man as the new head of the Department he'd said as much to Kowalski. Kowalski had cracked up laughing and when Skipper asked him to draw up a formal complaint on the matter the scientist had told him he could just change the names on the complaint he'd made six months ago about him. Skipper hadn't ended up sending the letter because the guy did come up with results, but he just wished Rockgut would put his ego to the side and take a little advice from someone who'd been in the game a little longer than him. Kowalski had found this pretty funny too.

"Well I've been up since 0300, I think I deserved a coffee," Skipper replied as he walked in and was shocked to see the person seated calmly there did look a lot like him. Well, strong resemblance.

"Alright," Rockgut switched on a tape record on his desk, "State your name for the record."

"Special Agent Jonathan Van Dorn." the man replied. Rockgut nodded.

"Did you meet a Timothy Jones at a house in Kent in the United Kingdom about two days ago and take off with an airplane registered to the Department?"

"That I did."

"Did you steal that aeroplane?" Rockgut prompted after the interrogatee didn't take the subtle hint. Van Dorn smiled guiltily, flushing slightly.

"That I also did." He answered, then added, "I brought it back though." Rocgut gave him an amused smile that told him all was forgiven. He must have had a pretty good excuse.

"And did you then abduct this Timothy Jones?" immediate Van Dorn's previously genial smile sobered.

"That I _didn't_. I tried to stop it."

**I didn't go into detail but I think I implied that Kowalski spotted Doris in the crowd though he wouldn't actually meet her until she turns up at his office. I also tried to summarize the kind of implied control battle going on in the previous story. Essentially this chapter was just there to tie up all the loose ends before I get into the mystery of who abducted Tim Jones.**

**For those wondering about some changes I made to Buck Rockgut, he's the same Buck Rockgut in my contemporary humanized stories (She Never Looked Back, Paranoia etc.) so this is him at the very beginning of his career.**


	8. Scene of the Crime

"Go on." Rockgut prompted for Skipper's sake, though it was clear he'd heard a preview of the tale before. Van Dorn looked back at Skipper questioningly.

"You've heard how I was mixed up with the Penguins?"

"Yeah," Skipper replied, "Wild story." Van Dorn nodded and Skipper silently thanked him for neglecting to mention something about him being cute as a kid on record. Still, Van Dorn didn't really seem like the type to do something like that.

"We all thought we'd seen the last of Simon Dale after Kowalski went off on his rampage following Doris Blowhole's… Well, we were wrong," Van Dorn recounted gravely, "I was going through some data for a case when I saw a guy in the background of some security footage. I had it enlarged and it was Dale, apparently boarding a plane for England. There was only one thing he could be after there, and I was in New York so… Yeah, your plane just happened to be right outside the window of my office. I'm a half decent pilot and I made it there just before Dale. I got the kid… sorry, Director Jones…"

"Ex director." Rockgut corrected firmly.

"Yeah, I got his address from the files and got out there as fast as I could. The kid was happy to see me and jokingly said he'd been expecting me several years now. He still calls me Skipper and I wonder how he keeps track of all of you. What? Are you like Skipper 2 or something?" he asked genuinely, as if he was intending to take notes on the answer. Skipper shrugged. He hadn't known there were three of them, and up until now, he'd never been in a room with another Skipper, "Anyway, I got him out of the house and drove off to the field where I had the plane waiting.

"We were about half way there when we noticed this old propeller plane – like one of those crop dusters – following us. It took a couple of low passes at us, but I don't scare easy. The problem was there's a field between the road and the abandoned air strip I'd landed at and we'd have to go the stretch on foot. That was where they got us. They tried to scare us into splitting up but it didn't work. Next thing I knew they were shooting at the car a couple of meters back and the gas tank sent the whole thing up in flames. The explosion left me out for a few seconds, and when I got myself together they were already taking off with him."

"We couldn't have asked you to do more than you did." Kowalski commented, trying to alleviate the man's obvious guilt. Van Dorn shook his head.

"Sure, I couldn't have done any better," he replied, "I just feel sorry for the kid, though. Dale's a fanatic, and from what I've learned he's only gotten worse with age. I've given you all I've got on Dale and I'm happy to do all I can."

"His story checks out," Rockgut added for Skipper once again after switching off the recorder, "Around the time Jones was abducted air traffic control picked up a bogey almost below radar, but they dismissed it as a bird."

"Alright." Skipper replied, paranoid need to double check everything fulfilled. It was only then he noticed Van Dorn was looking at him with a funny kind of smile, "What?" Van Dorn just chuckled.

"Oh, I know you don't want me to answer that, kid," he replied and Skipper flushed. He vaguely remembered the agent, though he'd only seen him once or twice talking to Kowalski or 'Miss Chinstrap', "Anyway, I'm working a case in Washington, but call me if you want anything or anything comes up," he ordered, standing to leave with Rockgut's permission, "I wanna see that Timmy makes it back alright."

* * *

Skipper was seated in the map and chart room pouring over the various surveys of the area of the kidnapping and plans and photographs of the house and surrounding area. Why was he doing intellectual grunt work instead of Kowalski? Well, he was actually doing the lesser of the various lots, Kowalski doing the most tedious.

It was all a mystery to him, though. Van Dorn's story checked out to the tee and a wrecked automobile with a spray of bullets in the ground around it were ever dramatic. Still, the air base, though isolated, wasn't quite that isolated and Skipper wondered how the locals hadn't heard anything or seen the plane.

As for Nigel's security, it did seem to have been deactivated with a code which would make sense if Jones had left on his own free will. The question was how a) Dale knew Van Dorn would be at the air field and, more importantly b) how they were going to work out where he took his captive.

"Real puzzler, ain't it." Van Dorn commented and Skipper finally acknowledged his presence with more than the brief nod he'd given as the agent had entered.

"There just seems to be so many facts to go over," Skipper sighed, turning around in his chair to face Van Dorn who was perched atop one of the map cabinets. Kowalski had said something about how giving the eyes a break every once in a while would increase his productivity.

"Maybe that's 'cause there's other stuff on your mind." Van Dorn replied in an off handed way but Skipper was visibly surprised by the perceptiveness of the comment.

"You don't waste time getting to the point." Skipper replied in a similar tone.

"Do you?" Van Dorn commented. Still, it was pretty clear in his expression that he'd picked up on the trust issues that prevented Skipper from getting his thoughts out loud, "You know, you might not remember this, but we've met before. You'll probably be happy to know you've changed a lot since you were that age."

"I don't think so." Skipper replied.

"In some ways you haven't and you're still scared of opening up to people, just like Kowalski taught you, but it's hard to get rid of old habits. Anyway, it's not like I'm around here much, you can think of me as an independent listener."

"I had one more question," Skipper spoke slowly, eyeing Van Dorn with his well-known suspicious look, "Are you quite sure it was Simon Dale?"

"Completely. I'd know the guy anywhere," Van Dorn answered, "Why? You don't want it to be?"

"Are you sure he's not working for someone?" Skipper asked guardedly.

"Well how am I supposed to know?" Skipper nodded, but Van Dorn seemed to be catching on to what he was thinking of.

"Yeah, we sure could use him and his amazing contingencies around now," Van Dorn sighed, "It was a real honour to work with them in some version of what they were like in their heyday. I've worked with a lot of teams and eventually realized I'm more of a loner, but that's probably because I never found another group like them."

"Yeah." Skipper concurred. Van Dorn waited for something else, but Skipper left it at that, giving no indication as to what he was feeling or thinking. The young commander turned back to his maps and resumed his puzzling.

Apparently taking a break hadn't cleared his head, as he still sat there fighting with his pencil and occasionally banging it frustratedly against the table.

"I'm guessing that's your notes from your field work." Van Dorn commented, "Who did the tire tracks? The casts are pretty good."

"This is all Nigel's work, I haven't been out there." Skipper answered.

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Van Dorn laughed, "You can never learn anything from charts and photos, you've got to get your feet on the ground, get a feel of the land." Skipper masked a thankful smile as he stood up.

"Yeah, I was planning on doing that." He lied.

"And I'm the King of Sweden." Skipper shot him such a glare the more experienced agent was forced to back down, "Alright, alright, you were planning to go out there!"

"Do you want to come along?" Skipper asked and he was secretly hoping Van Dorn would say yes. He seemed to know what he was talking with when it came to field work and there was something about the guy Skipper liked. He'd liked what little he could remember from when he was ten as well.

"Nah, I was supposed to be back in Washington five hours ago," He replied, "Buck's dad's probably having a fit, and I'll tell you this: you're lucky to have the junior version. Call me, though, if you get stuck. It's hard to include everything in a statement."

* * *

The once Commissioner of police and head of the Department Timothy Jones sat in the arm chair looking down at the carpet. It was quite nice, probably Turkish in origin or something but had since fallen on hard times and was almost threadbare with use. There was a similar tone to the rest of the house: a once luxurious miniature mansion that was now a decaying shadow of its former glory. Maybe the voice on the phone was trying to tell him something about himself.

The voice on the phone. That was his only contact with civilization. The old fashioned – one of those telephones where the earpiece was a little bell you'd hold and then you'd speak into the telephone itself – contraption would ring and Jones learned fast it was a good idea to answer. Then the same question was repeated to him inevitably no matter what else was said: "what did the kid tell you?"

He had the run of the house and it was rather pleasant, if lonely. He couldn't go out into the garden as the doors and windows were not only locked but all but one, which had an impressive array of locks on it, were welded shut. So far he'd been there two days, excluding the day in which the majority had been taken up by the flight and then the drive, and he'd been entirely alone. Jones didn't deny the fact he was a social creature. He prided himself on being able to make friends or at least have a friendly conversation with almost anyone and that was probably why. He hoped he'd come back tonight, no matter what Jones was set at the mercy of. It was driving the former Private insane to be shut up in a place where he couldn't even see another house or a road except the drive way.

Jones stretched himself out on the couch to sleep; the bedrooms were just too lonely. He was thinking about things he hadn't thought about in years. It was probably the questions that had reminded him, mostly. Reminded him of that last time back in 1962 when the team had been together if only for less than a week. Aside from the days before the Penguins, those were the happiest in his life. That was probably what had made him soft though, soft enough to make his mistake was what the darker corner of his mind drifted on to. But the child in him would always ask if it really was a mistake. It was when he was isolated like this that memories like this one would dredge themselves up from the dark corners of his mind. This was probably why he hadn't gone mad like Rico or Kowalski – Rico had told him that he'd often hear footsteps in the night or once or twice thought he heard Skipper's voice whispering in his ear – he was too busy talking to other people to let the thoughts enter his head.

**_June 15th, 1962_**

_It was a stormy night when Jones got the call. He was on his way home after working late at the office and normally he would have let his new car phone keep on ringing but he had a rather important operation going. Agent Galileo Newton, or so the helpful boy who'd come to him offering his services as Dr Blowhole Jr.'s personal lab assistant had called himself. He was a valuable agent, of course, until they discovered the mole in the department. Jones had gotten him fast, but he'd still gotten a message off to Blowhole and it was only a matter of time until something happened. Private had told Newton to get the last of the papers and then clear out._

_"Sir!" the half dead voice panted over the phone. He sounded like he'd been running for miles, "She's dead. Doris is dead!"_

_"What?!" Jones exclaimed and had to pull over as his car almost swerved into another._

_"Her and her father, both of them shot. Francis thinks it was me!" there was a heartbroken tone to the boy's voice. This hurt Jones almost as much as the news that the sweet innocent little blond known as Doris who'd just ended up in all the wrong places was dead. It was hard to lose someone one loved, but even harder when it had betrayal attached. He knew._

_"Do you know who did it?" He asked, remembering his duty._

_"Yeah, I've got – I had – the gun," he paused, and it wasn't just fear or remorse, "Well… I recognised it in the files… its kinda distinctive..."_

_"My god…" Private gasped as he realized just which weapon he meant. Kowalski couldn't have… He just couldn't…_

_"I think I got there a few seconds after it happened. She lived long enough to call me 'Kowalski'. Francis figured that and the smoking gun I was holding was enough." Newton replied with a dull, almost resentful tone to his voice. Private wanted to comfort the kid. He really wanted to, but he figured there was someone else who needed him more. Newton seemed to sense this, "I don't know where he went…"_

_"I do."_

* * *

_Kowalski was terrified of dying. There were a lot of guesses as to why; some thought it was because it was an unknown variable. Others thought he was afraid of what he knew he'd face on the other side. Maybe that was why he was stood at the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge on that cold night of 1962. He stood with his hand rested on one of the giant bridge supports staring down into the blackness below, icy droplets of rain well past soaking him to almost hypothermia._

_He was nervous, no, scared. Scratch that, he was outright terrified, but that was the point. An hour had passed since the gunshot that had ended the most beautiful woman in the world. He'd tried to save her. He'd tried everything - he was a doctor, one of the best – but there was nothing he could do. He could remember the way she'd looked up at him, her eyes glassy, her skin pale, and her lips red with the blood trickling from her lips and whispered one word:_

_"Run"_

_And so he'd run. Run right to the bridge. And there he stood wondering if the fall would be painful enough. Nothing would be painful, or terrifying, or eternal enough to cleanse him of even the single tear that had fallen from her eye as she gripped his hand._

_"K'walski!" a high pitched, British accented voice called. Kowalski took a step forward so his toes were now on the very edge of the precipice, completely ignoring the other man. There was a patter of feet behind him but Kowalski ignored it._

_"You know the story," He spoke. There were no pretences, no masks he was desperately trying to hold up, it was just Kowalski. Or whatever was left of him, "You're crazy if you don't agree with me."_

_"You're crazy if I think I would." Jones countered pleadingly, "I've never known you to run from anything and I didn't expect you to start now!"_

_"I'm not running. I'm actually doing this partially for you," he replied grimly. Finally he glanced back to face private, who, despite his firm tone was almost afraid as he was. The kid was doing well trying to hide it, though._

_"I said I even wanted to work with you, and that offer still stands," Private puzzled, "Why would you think I'd want… this?"_

_"You know what happened last time with Skipper." Kowalski argued. The wind was strong. He might just slip, but that would defeat the purpose of the entire exercise. It had to be his choice, "You know what I turned in to and I finally had to face that," His voice wavered as that gust of wind came along and he gripped the support ever tighter so he wouldn't fall mid-sentence, "You have no idea what that's like."_

_"Well, if I had to look back at that with a clear mind, I'd probably feel about the same, but you can change." Private begged._

_"I intended to. I actually intended to run away with Doris to Canada or Europe," he sighed and the expression of crushed dreams seemed to hit the Lunicorn lover like a freight train, "We'd start a new life and all that."_

_"Well, perhaps you can't do that…" Private searched for an alternative, anything Kowalski could call his new objective, "But you've got your new Commissioner now to keep you in line… You've still got Will to look after!"_

_"The point is Private, what I became last time…"_

_"You can choose what you become!" The kid countered._

_"That's what I'm doing."_

_"Well I'll risk it." Private argued with an almost comical 'I'm standing my ground' expression, "We can risk it together." He sounded like a bad radio play if Kowalski didn't know he actually meant every word of it._

_"Then its your choice," Kowalski spoke after a few seconds of nervous thought, "You're a Captain, well, a Commissioner, and I'm just a Lieutenant. You can order me to step down or you can order me to jump."_

_"Well step down, then."_

_"I just want you know that what you see tomorrow you are not going to like," Kowalski answered firmly as he stepped down off the edge and Private grasped him by the wrist and pulled him along like Will often would to make sure he wouldn't go backthough he needed no coaxing to step away from the precipice, "I'm not going to like it, but it'll be too late. Will probably won't like it."_

_"Like I said, I'll chance it." Private didn't really believe what Kowalski said. He was always a repeat offender pessimist, even in Skipper's paranoid books – both of theirs – and was probably assuming the worst. Kowalski had learned again to laugh and smile and blow up inventions with inaccurate calculations and that wasn't something he'd go back on. He'd be depressed, heartbroken, but he had Private and Will and Jenkins to love him, and he'd mend. Private was sure of it._

* * *

_"Chief!" Roger burst into the office, "Chief, you've gotta see this!"_

_"What?" Private questioned. His mind had been entirely on Kowalski and what had happened the night before._

_"Oh! Don't look at them!" Roger immediatly retracted his statement hiding the photographs behind his back, "Just… All the conspirators, all the ones he could find at least… You don't want to know," Private didn't want to know. He didn't like crime scenes, "He left a note."_

_"Well?" Jones questioned, hoping against hope that it wasn't what he feared._

_"'Watch your back, Commissioner'." Roger replied without checking his notes, the words were etched into his mind._

_"I didn't think Dale would go that far…" Jones finally spoke, "Mass murder…"_

_"No, Dale's almost certainly in the pile of corpses being taken away right now," Roger contradicted grimly, "You aren't going to like this, but we know for a fact, not one we can prove in court…" Roger let his voice trail off when it was clear Jones knew who he was talking about. Though he told himself off almost immediately for thinking it Private wondered if he should have ordered Kowalski to jump._

* * *

The house was situated in what Private had called 'a rather charming area of unspoiled English countryside' and Skipper probably wouldn't have smacked him round the head quite as hard if it wasn't raining as badly and Nigel wasn't complaining to him about tracking mud into the house. Still, Van Dorn was right about getting his feet on the ground, especially at the airfield. It had helped to see the tracks in the mud where the plane had landed, the remains of the car and the footprints that became scuff marks when Jones was dragged off and the decent Special Agent Johnny Van Dorn sized imprint in the mud from where he'd lain semi conscious during the abduction.

He found out how Dale had known where Jones was going. Van Dorn had described the man's distinctive limp and there were tracks, one foot print and then a long line in the mud where one foot was dragged along and evidence of a cane, were found near the perimeter fence despite crude attempts to erase them. That, and the marks of a tri pod where they'd probably scouted the house from made things pretty clear.

"Mind if I use the telephone?" Skipper asked. Nigel glared at him through his spectacles.

"Just remember, old boy," the elderly agent reminded sourly, and Skipper didn't blame him, it wasn't nice to have your house turned into a crime scene and he was almost certainly worried about his nephew even if he had to keep a stiff upper lip, "You're cleaning this up."

"Telephone?"

"If only it were a teleporter." Nigel muttered but there as a good natured smile behind his wrinkled scowl. Though the man had gone through the wars – both of them, and his own personal political struggle – those lines were not there from scowling. Skipper almost envied the life he lived out here in the country, well, till now, but it seemed too dull for him and Nigel had said similar things at the start of his exile but now claimed he was used to it.

After dialing the number and setting up the tracer – he never made a call without it – he finally raised the receiver to his ear and listened over the crackly line for a familiar voice.

"Skipper?" Van Dorn questioned over the phone. Skipper's tracer read Washington as he heard the sound of the phone being covered but he still heard the muffled shout of: "Would you wait one minute, Daisy? No, don't take notes on this conversation!" Typical sounds of the office. He and Van Dorn were just becoming more and more alike, "Have you found him?" he asked eagerly and Skipper could hear the weight of the guilt of not having saved Jones in the crackly reproduction of his voice.

"Nothing yet. We've got an idea he went back to the US, though. A plane matching your description landed at a small airfield just outside London and the same party got on a plane at Heathrow. Someone matching Jones' description got on with them though they seemed to have 'forgotten' the description of the person/persons accompanying." Skipper answered.

"Sounds just like Dale."

"Anyway, they say they noticed him because he looked so sad. Gee, I wonder why?" Skipper added sarcastically.

"Someone had a gun hidden under their coat?" Van Dorn replied, the static apparently causing him not to realize it was sarcasm, "Anything else?"

"No, I'll let you get back to your meeting." The time was 0900, US and Skipper made a note of that as well as the location.

"Ah, paranoid as ever," Nigel sighed, "Do you do that with my calls?"

"Well…" Skipper started awkwardly.

"Wouldn't want it any other way, m'boy."


	9. Notes

"It is now 9:00 am, the 9:00 am we have all been waiting for, and this is Chuck Charles reporting live from what is left of the Consolidated Amalgamated building as the NYPD finally prepare to conquer the top floor," the newsreader informed his watchers as he stood on the buildings battered steps, "Once one of the crown jewels of this city standing almost as tall as the Empire State building all that's left following the so called 'battle of Consolidated Amalgamated' almost a year ago is a scarred, crumbling eyesore.  
"It's taken months of nerve-wracking work by the NYPD bomb squads to disarm the traps that still run rampant through the building and the catastrophic explosions caused by these unseen dangers have added more to the long list of lives claimed by the alleged leader of the Penguins.  
"Surviving heir William Grant had no comment on the matter of Consolidated Amalgamated except to complement the work of Special Agent Lewis Clemson. One minute…" the newsman put his finger to his ear, listening intently for several seconds, "They're about to enter the office sometime in the next five minutes," Chuck Charles reported as excitedly as his highly controlled speech would allow and continued to comment, pausing only to allow his camera man to turn away from the stretcher on which a human form covered entirely by a white sheet was carried gravely past them to an ambulance which had been present during the whole operation for just these cases.

* * *

"Well, are we in?" Clemson demanded impatiently of the breathless officer who'd just run down from the top floor. Clemson had remained down on the ninth from the top which they were quite certain they'd disarmed with the bulk of the force who's job it would be to transport Kowalski's files and personal effects down to be sorted into classified department property and other material which could be disposed of as Skipper saw fit.  
"We just lost another man, sir." The agent replied reproachfully. Clemson, recently released from psychiatric care and on probation seemed to pay no mind to this.  
"I know," Clemson replied, "Sergeant Cooper's the fourteenth of them, but the point is we've got that office open."  
"Yes, we have." The subordinate replied cautiously.  
"So why are you here?"  
"Well, it was an unusual trap," the man replied, "An incendiary in the filing cabinet. It didn't look like it would ordinarily do much damage, it didn't seem like it was intended to hurt anyone, but Sargent Cooper was just standing next to it…"  
"What triggered it?" Clemson interrupted, hoping there weren't similar triggers that would go off when he'd have to enter the office to have his photograph taken there for the press.  
"Well…" The man's face contorted into a kind of thoughtful scowl, "Someone said it was a timed detonator…"  
"Kowalski didn't put a year long timer in there!" Clemson exclaimed, voicing what was in all probability true despite the fact it was Kowalski they were talking about and springing to his feet he started for the stairs, "Somebody else has been in that office before us!"  
Sounding the alarm over his radio he reached the top floor in seconds. Already the members of the bomb squad who'd been inspecting the floor were fanned out around the empty office covering all doors and corridors.  
"Anyone in or out?" Clemson demanded.  
"No." The officer in charge replied promptly, "Only Cooper and the paramedic."  
"Good," Clemson called over his shoulder and barged into the office. It was empty, and exactly how Skipper's report and Marlene's statement had described it save dark burn marks around the mangled and melted filing cabinets. Muttering a curse Clemson glared at the destruction. The papers were supposed to be the most important part.  
Why would someone destroy them though? That was when Clemson's eyes fell on the roll of miniature film left on the desk. Of course, someone had photographed them and wanted to make sure theirs was the only copy.  
Seeing that the intruder had been sloppy enough to leave things behind Clemson's eyes did a more thorough sweep of the room as him men searched the outside with obsession. It was clear by their exasperated and panicked sounds that they had yet to find the intruder.  
A plain metal cane left in the corner told him how the intruder had gotten out – as far as he knew Kowalski had always been in good health – as it was placed directly in front of the escape passage in the wooden panelling behind. Not wasting time to find the switch Clemson threw his weight against the middle panel and it splintered to pieces leaving a dark recess below.  
Immediately he started down the steep flight of concrete steps switching on his flashlight as he went. He neither saw nor heard anyone and he reached the end of the passage to find himself in the elaborate tunnel system. So this was how the thief had gotten in. He couldn't have gotten in any other way. But hadn't they sealed all the exits and entrances to the system?  
Not to brag about his own intelligence, but the answer leapt to him almost at once and he sprinted off in the direction of it. Sure enough, as his feet pattered along the concrete floor the tapping of footsteps turned to splashes and water washed over the top of his shoes and into his socks. Stopping at the edge of the great hole in the floor from which the water came, the hole blasted by Kowalski when he went to rescue his adopted son, he took only a split second to psych himself up before diving in and hoping he was swimming in the right direction as the whole place was pitch dark.  
His lungs were straining for air as felt along the ceiling and he was just starting to wonder if he'd be able to find his way back to the only hole in the ceiling as his hand went right throught the wall. The hole opposite him was rough and ragged and slime had not collected on it like the other surfaces so it was probably only a few hours old. The thief had evidently blasted through from some sewer into the bunker which meant that the hole would lead to somewhere with oxygen and Clemson threw himself into it, fighting his way through the filthy water until he found himself treading water in a gigantic tank.  
He swam to the side and climbed over the edge automatically finding the only door out and sending himself though it and up the flight of steps directly outside to street level. In front of him he saw the door of a suspiciously nearby car slam shut and he fired a warning shot at it.  
"Stop!" he yelled and was ignored not only by one car which sped off at many times the speed limit but by three. Running a few meters after them on foot he soon realized it was pointless and flagged down a car which had narrowly missed being hit by the escapees, "NYPD," he flashed his badge to the driver who pulled over for the soaking officer – he was in police garb and carrying appropriate identification provided by Rockgut – and commandeered the car, picking the one of the three headed back to the front of the building and followed it.  
"Follow these two cars!" He ordered, tossing a slip of paper he'd written the registration numbers of the other two cars on with the hand he wasn't holding the steering wheel with. Hoping the rest of the squad cars that immediatly started sirens screaming in the opposite direction to him would apprehend them as he focused his efforts on his own problem.

* * *

"Looks like they're just pulling it up now." Private informed his superior. Skipper nodded. He could see Clemson seated on the roof of one of the squad cars fuming. Rockgut had blamed him for his pursuant driving off the edge of the winding road and into the river which put him at risk of being fired.  
"Stay here." Skipper ordered and he started to make his way towards the water logged car leaving Private behind.  
"He can come." Kowalski corrected, jogging up to him from the opposite direction.  
"You wanna scar him for life?" Skipper countered. Kowalski shook his head.  
"It's a only a dummy inside. The car was remote controlled, like the rest of them."  
"Rest of them?" Skipper questioned, his expression tightening slightly. He didn't like being out of the loop, especially if Kowalski was in the loop. It might just give him ideas; make him forget the PELT incident.  
"Yeah, the one that seemingly was trying to protect the third one; the one they shot up," Kowalski elaborated, glancing down at the notes on his clipboard, "It was a dummy inside and the vehicle was driving itself. Same as the third one they lost. They found it in a ditch a few miles further on and according to my inspection of the combustion engine powered automobile…"  
"Let's call it a car, how about it?"  
"Fine the '_car_' as you call it," Kowalski pouted, obviously pleased with his longer and more complex description of the vehicle, "Nobody was driving it. They were all following instructions encoded on to magnetic tape. Essentially, the '_cars_' were being driven by computer…"  
"Yeah, I get it, we're stuck without a lead because the real thief could have been on the other side of the country but those cars would have still started up when Clemson tripped the wire and driven down those roads. If someone crashed into them, they were only diversions."  
"Doesn't that sound a lot like one of…?"  
"Yes, it does sound like one of K'walski's plans," Skipper snapped, more harshly than Kowalski had expected and the man was somewhat taken aback, "The only thing that kept us alive against those was the fact K'wakski wasn't quite sure he wanted me dead. I don't think our thief or whoever he sells the notes to has that problem." Kowalski's expression gravened accordingly. This was bad.  
"'Ipper?" Rico interrupted indelicately.  
"Any more bad news?" Skipper questioned.  
"Nah, V' Dorn 'ays 'ee wan' talk to ya."

* * *

"Let me talk you through what I figure happened," Van Dorn spoke, standing outside the hole in the sidewalk that Clemson had climbed out of, "Tell me if I'm wrong, it's only a theory of mine."  
"Sure." Skipper replied as the group of five descended into the water system. Van Dorn walked them though how the thief had calculated that the water tank was opposite the weakened wall of the bunker and had blasted away the wall Skipper had fought desperately against almost a year ago and swam through to the hole in the ceiling created by Kowalski. The thief had then gone up through the passage way that went directly into Kowalski's office instead of coming out into the first Skipper's and crossing the corridor.  
He'd then photographed the documents and set the incendiary.  
"But the cane's the most important part," Van Dorn informed them, showing them the cane tagged and fingerprinted, "This looks just like Simon Dale's cane and the prints say it is."  
"So we know he's personally overseeing jobs and he's got Kowalski's plans," Skipper replied, "Still, someone could have planted it there."  
"But take a look at this." Van Dorn started down the steps again, Skipper following close behind. He stopped about half way down, "I figured if he was running like a scared rabbit without his cane, he must have tripped up some time. Here's where he did:" Van Dorn motioned to a section of wall where the latent print of a hand had been developed. The print showed a right hand spread against the wall of the same side, the middle finger paralell and pointing up the stairs, "There's fibres from a jacket there that are being analysed.  
"So he hit the wall hard with his whole arm. He was probably being supported by his accomplice and the accomplice dropped him." Kowalski finished after thoughtfully examining the exhibit.  
"But how'd he get away if the cars were decoys?" skipper questioned.  
"Walked, maybe took a forth car?" Van Dorn theorised, "We're checking up on all of those. Hell, the guy Clemson might have commandeered the car from might have been him." Kowalski's pen hit his clip board a bit harder than usual in annoyance.  
"Why won't this guy just slip up?!" He exclaimed.  
"I know where you're coming from," Van Dorn sighed, "this isn't the first time I've tried to get something on Simon Dale."

* * *

It had been a hard day; Skipper wasn't going to deny that. He was exhausted, he still had the chills from swimming through into the bunker – and it wasn't just from the cold, the memory of almost drowning had nearly overwhelmed him at the time – though he had gotten dry cloths at the other end. His feet hurt from walking around and around crime scenes and he had a vague feeling he'd missed breakfast, lunch and was coming up on dinner.  
"Marlene?" He called, surprised his fiancée hadn't been there automatically to greet him. She'd seemed pretty keen to know what had happened to Shauna and he had forgotten to phone her before he set off for England that she had been staying with friends at the time. Well, he was more disappointed she wasn't waiting with a bowl of hot soup as she normally would be if she'd anticipated he'd had a hard day. He'd managed to catch some sleep on the plane, so he hadn't gone forty eight hours without rest thus he would be spared the lecture.  
"Soups on the kitchen counter, honey." Marlene called back distractedly, "'s cold, so I'm gonna call it chicken noodle gazpacho unless you want to heat it up yourself."  
"Why me?" Skipper retorted, though regretted it almost before he'd said it.  
"'Cause it's your soup." Marlene countered, though she wasn't quite as irritated by the remark as he expected her to be.  
"But normally, and I'm carefully avoiding the topic of the duties of a wife," Yeah, those conversations could get ugly, "I don't get cold soup?" Skipper questioned, shedding his coat.  
"Maybe it's about time you made your own soup."  
"But I'm working a case," Skipper replied entering the living area, "I don't have time to make my own soup." Immediately he definitely knew something was out of the ordinary. Marlene had taken over his desk with papers and files and was wearing a suit, something he didn't even think she owned. She looked awfully business-like, and he wasn't sure he approved of that.  
"Well I'm working a case," Marlene spoke, finally looking up at him, "Yes, Kowalski didn't just pull my name out of a hat, I'd been in the private detective business a few years before that."  
"You seemed amateur, to me." Skipper replied. It had never occurred to Skipper to wonder what Marlene had done before he'd met her. That out of charecter fact showed how much he thought of her.  
"That's because I wasn't trained to go up against the international spy racket," Marlene countered, beckoning him over to the desk, "Anyway, I was going in to close up the office when a customer walked in the door. I told him I was out of the game, but he insisted I'd take his case."  
"And?" Skipper questioned, his eyes locked on a photograph of a man in his prime with chestnut hair and eyes he could imagine a woman would find attractive. The carefree manor in which he was posed and the movie star smile he sported he feared would have a similar effect.  
"The guy you're unreasonably jealous of is the client," Marlene reported, noting Skipper's concern over the image, "His name's Lloyd Parker, and he works for I think he said a Ms Doris Francis."  
"Well?"  
"It's a blackmail case," Marlene elaborated, opening one of the many files on the desk, "Ms Francis is an influential woman who is coming to me under an alias as usual and claims that as security for a deal she provided a man named Roger – last name – with a pretty sensitive letter. Roger was working as an agent for another guy she won't tell me the name of."  
"And because the client's too scared to open up to you, you've got to fill in all the blanks yourself, confront her with them and earn her trust," Skipper finished for her. He knew the drill, and as interesting as Marlene might find the case – and he hoped it was the case – that wasn't what he wanted to discuss.  
"No, I don't get to meet Ms Francis, I just deal with the messenger," Marlene corrected.  
"This Parker character, are you sure it's not a scam or something?" skipper questioned, his paranoia showing through, though this time he was just looking for excuses. Marlene rolled her eyes.  
"There are plenty of pretty girls at your office and I don't say you can't go to work," Marlene lectured, "If you can't trust me to be professional, how can you trust me to walk down the street? I'll end up locked in a room!"  
"That's not fair! Marlene…"  
"This might be my last case, Skipper," Marlene interrupted, and the look in her eyes made him back down. Skipper nodded grudgingly and the matter was dropped. Well, not entirely. As the days went by and Marlene was less and less likely to be home in the evenings when he got back he couldn't help but feel something was being stolen from him.


	10. Couples

Private was standing in a corridor. One of those generic corridors that depending on who else was in it could be almost anywhere: it could be an office building or a hospital or a community centre or wherever, just plain white walls and a grey floor. This corridor was empty except for one man reading some kind of newspaper but he was very generic looking, so Private had no idea where he was. He couldn't remember coming there either and his head was kind of fuzzy.

Private placed his hand in his pocket, and oddly enough there was something there. He pulled it out, and saw it was a brown paper parcel. It was kind of heavy and it didn't rattle. Private's fingers went to open it but the man with the newspaper suddenly looked up and hissed at him:

"You crazy? In front of all these people?" Private glanced around, the corridor still empty. It made him wonder just who should be accusing who of being crazy. Still, Private replaced the parcel in his pocket and the man relaxed. He seemed familiar somehow. Private was pretty sure he'd seen him in the papers… yes, Archie – he couldn't remember his last name - Skipper had said he was the one who'd engineered the deal that had gotten Jones fired, "I was told to remind you: make sure you wear gloves, don't touch anything and nothing gets left behind that you wouldn't expect be there…"

"Excuse me, sir, but I'm not quite sure what you're saying…" Private began to question, but the man just kept on talking as if Private had said nothing.

"…already. Take inventory of the contents of your pockets, buttons everything. Take your time to check the area afterwards; you've got half an hour and if you need a distraction…" the man's voice droned on into inaudibility and suddenly Private found himself in another room he couldn't quite make out.

It seemed kind of dark and blurred at the sides like a bad photograph, but he could see someone lying in a bed with a lot of tubes and other medical stuff that always made Private feel sick connected to him and another man sitting in a chair with his back to him. Even when Private tried to focus on either of them he couldn't quite make out who they were. Bits of torn brown paper were scattered around at his feet and the weight was gone from his pocket. It was in his hand now, cold, metallic and familiar. He looked down to see what it was.

The sounds of two gunshots were so loud Private's ears felt like they were exploding. The whole room went red and suddenly Private sat up in his bunk gasping and sweating.

He clutched his knees to his chest as some kind of comfort against the odd feeling that he might have fired those shots. It wasn't like he knew he had or he knew it was some person behind him… it was strange. He always had that feeling after one of those dreams. Same as sometimes when he wasn't dreaming, other things would set it off. Like when Skipper had brought Kowalski's gun home. He'd left it on the desk and somehow Private had had the strange urge to pick it up.

Private froze as he heard footsteps in the hall however he quickly recognised the distinctive shuffling of the resident mad scientist complete with the sound of test tubes clinking together in his pocket. The footsteps were familiar too since Private heard them quite often around this time roughly every week. He'd had asked him once what he was doing and Kowalski had casually replied that he was getting a glass of water. He certainly had a routine to it.

However as Kowalski passed by private's ajar door and was briefly illuminated by the street light streaming in through the window he saw Kowalski was fully dressed and carrying his clipboard as if going out for the evening, albeit at a ridiculous hour of the night and sneaking out.

Perhaps it was the remainders of the dream that made Private unusually suspicious enough to follow Kowalski out of the door and half way across the nearby darkened park. Private tailed him into a corner surrounded by trees he'd never seen before and discovered he and Kowalski were not the only two ones in the park. The silhouette of a man was seated on a bench just by the edge of the small artificial – and very romantic – lake waiting calmly for Kowalski who was walking purposefully towards him.

Suddenly Private's breath caught in his throat and he dived behind a tree holding a hand over his mouth to muffle his terrified panting; he scared to look though he could still hear vague incomprehensible mutterings. He desperately tried to calm himself down but it was no good. Kowalski, the first one, was back and though he'd normally take it as a chance to try to save him again it was clear he'd restarted his blackmail of the less criminal Kowalski.

"'E knows abou' 'Doris'… 'f that happen' he won't give up a' agent like you. Might make y' kill someone else, ma'be Will."

The words in Rico's unmistakeable distorted voice popped into his head clear as a bell though once again he couldn't quite remember when he'd heard them. Perhaps when he'd told him about the letter he'd received from the first Kowalski. Still, it was quite true, if not for the killing bit or so he hoped.

Slowly, as he gathered the nerve to approach, circling around the lake to get a better view of the proceedings, he found the speech was not the protesting exclamations or the defeated monosyllables of the blackmail victim, nor the precise, emotionless, expertly chosen words that were almost trademarked to the first Kowalski that replied. Also, they were holding hands. He rounded the bench further so he was now looking at them in such a way that the moonlight illuminated their faces and he saw it was not the first Kowalski who was holding hands with his Kowalski – something he'd been quite shocked to see – but Dr Blowhole. That was much more expected.

Private stayed hidden behind the tree as they talked softly like any romantic couple and Private felt quite guilty for being a secret party to this. It pleased him, on the other hand, to see Kowalski happy after the almost decade that had followed the dark turn Operation: Filing Cabinet had taken. If there was any possibility of a non-romantic motive for the meeting it was immediately quashed as the two kissed each other passionately farewell and Private couldn't help but blush and feel even more embarrassed at being there.

The two held each other for some time after that still watching the moonlight on the pond and whispering of inventions. It was the most obvious stalling Private had ever seen, though it seemed to work, but the evening was ended as Kowalski glanced at his watch. They kissed once more and Kowalski set off down the footpath again with a giddy grin on his face.

Private stayed watching Blowhole who'd remained on the bench instead of following Kowalski after he'd walked past him. He'd always been told that Blowhole was crazy and evil in almost every way one could imagine, but the last scene had seemed anything put evil. Skipper would never understand, though, and Private was only more adamant that he must never find out.

Suddenly Private felt himself jerked backward by his collar and a knife was pressed against his ribs. He was forced forward towards the bench where one last shove left him sprawled unceremoniously at the foot of the outdoor furniture.

"Well, if it isn't one of skipper's spies," Blowhole mused, defeating Private's attempt to get up with a movement of his boot. A bit of broken glass on the jagged path dug into his shoulder and Private winced.

"Yeah, I heard rustling in the bushes behind me." Well that was odd, Private was quite sure he'd kept completely still, "I'm 98.776% sure he was alone. I guess we should…"

"I'm sorry Kowalski, but I'm going to have to get rid of him for you." Blowhole interrupted not sounding the least bit 'sorry'. Private hoped it was just an act.

"I guess so," Kowalski answered reluctantly and after some thought along with some scratching sounds that made Private think he was truly torn enough to consult his clipboard, "but I want to find out how long he's been trailing me and how much Skipper knows."

"Skippah doesn't know anything; I just followed you out the door!" Private answered so hurriedly he almost rather rudely cut him off and Kowalski seemingly realized it was him for the first time.

"Private?!" the scientist exclaimed, immediately pocketing the knife and going to help the boy up. Blowhole pushed him down.

"I said you had to be more careful." Blowhole snapped and took out his frustration on Private's back with his heel. He seemed very comfortable in such situations, unsurprisingly.

"I promise I won't tell Skippah!" Private pleaded, "I wasn't going to anyway; I think you're a rather adorable couple!"

"Pen-gu-in, I don't make accusations lightly anymore due to certain past mistakes, but I find that very difficult to believe." Blowhole scoffed, "And for the record I don't respond to flattery, though I appreciate your complement…" Blowhole seemed to realize he was contradicting himself and Private had to wait out yet another thoughtful pause, "Maybe I can just use you for a lab rat a couple of days and then turn you loose. You probably won't be able to tell Skipper after that and even if you can you won't unless you're interested in a permanent position."

"Listen, I can prove I won't talk!" Private begged, "I've known for almost a year and I haven't said anything," Private explained, "I got a letter from the other Kowalski a year ago that said he'd tell Skippah about you if I didn't do as he said, it's on my desk."

"He's lying." Blowhole sighed passively, eying the boy up to see just which experiments he'd be a superior guinea pig for as opposed to lobsters. Maybe the Chrome Claw project…

"He wouldn't lie about something I could check so easily," Kowalski defended him, "Anyway, we'll really have skipper on us if he goes missing.

"You've got a point," Blowhole replied and though it was supposed to be taken as disappointment as a lack of subjects for experimentation on Private could read the relief behind it. Definitely not a bad guy. He was even offered a hand up from the supposed villain and he offered them both the best of luck in return as he followed Kowalski back to the subway.

* * *

"Johnny!" Julian exclaimed with the excitement he greeted every guest with. Van Dorn just nodded and let the man run his course of greetings and gossip not once realizing that the agent wasn't paying him the slightest attention.

"Is Ms Knight in?" Van Dorn finally got the opportunity to ask.

"Have you been under de metaphorical rock thing?!" Julian laughed. _Not going to respond, not going to respond…_ "Everybody is knowing Lola is always…" Julian paused with a comical expression of puzzlement on his face, "Actually, she has been going out every now and then."

"Well is she in now?" Van Dorn repeated his question with a touch of annoyance. All he wanted was a simple yes or no answer.

"You caught me just as I was about to leave." Lola's silken voice replied and she rounded the corner sure enough wearing her coat as if she was about to go out the door. There was a bitter note to her voice, however, and a similar tone to her edgy but smooth movements. She had the air of a femme fatale, and Van Dorn knew she had a devious mind to match. Knowing that kind of put him on edge since she clearly hadn't forgiven him for stopping her from taking Will, "Well how's everyone's favourite Chicago detective?"

"I'm pretty international now, and I was never a detective," Van Dorn replied matching her tone. Julian, not being one for frigid conversations quietly backed off, "I'm here on a case, not to see you, doll. Don't flatter yourself."

"And I thought everyone liked me." she purred with mock innocence.

"Who? Like Kowalski?" Van Dorn scoffed.

"He was starting to warm to me when he decided to start a fire fight in a hospital," Lola answered as the agent brushed past her, grabbing a chair at the nearest table. He didn't invite her to sit, but she did anyway.

"Yeah, funny how that happened. You know they never caught the killer. But then maybe we might have if you hadn't wiped the kid's mind." His eyes accused a lot more than he said.

"I didn't want to leave him traumatized for life, and I don't think justice for someone like Kowalski was more important than that." She countered. Lola crossed her legs placing her purse on the table. Van Dorn took out his notebook, flipping to an empty page. For a few seconds the two just watched each other, sizing up their opponent, "So what case are you working on?" Lola asked, breaking the ice.

"That's for me to know and you to find out when I decide you can," Van Dorn replied, though she'd work it out once he started asking questions, "I want you tell me everything you know about your husband's murder."

"In chronological order?" She questioned.

"Why not?"

"If you're trying to solve my case you missed the boat."

"Stop stalling."

"Alright," Lola sighed, "It's just a little painful to remember – I need a drink," She waved her hand and Maurice reluctantly complied, "it's on you, by the way."

"Start talking." Lola gave him a withering look but Van Dorn didn't seem to notice.

"Well, I was a couple of minutes from the end of my first show," she began, "Tony was…"

"Think further back, doll." Van Dorn interrupted. Lola gave him a sarcastic glare in return.

"I was born in Brooklyn in…"

"Don't play dumb," he interrupted. Lola was a real piece of work, but there was no way she was going to annoy him off the case, "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No I don't." Lola countered smugly, "Of course, if you info about the Penguins I'm all hearsay…"

"I wanna know what you did when you found out who Tony Knight really was," Van Dorn interrupted talking in an overly articulated manor almost like how one would give instructions to a person hard of hearing. He didn't give Lola a chance to interrupt him, though, but boy did she try, "I wanna know how you got Tony to give you his knife two days before the murder and I wanna know what your relationship with Kowalski was like between when you found out about Tony and the murder." Lola's confused frown had grown more and more as he continued. Feigned ignorance.

"And what if I said I've got no idea what you're going about, and you've got no right to accuse me of Tony's murder." Lola countered.

"And what if _I_ said I was going to take you down to the station to refresh your memory." Van Dorn countered, "Anyway, who said I'm accusing _you_?"

"You pretty damn obviously are, but Will would have me out in seconds and you posted to the South Pole."

"Alright," Called his bluff. She was good, but then what did he expect? "Let me rephrase the question: why were you so anxious to get your kid back?"

"You said it, Johnny, he's my kid."

"And the guy you were going up against was Kowalski," the once skipper countered, "Ever consider if you got him too angry he might have just killed the kid 'cause he could?"

"Kowalski wasn't like that."

"Or maybe that was exactly…"

"Telephone, sir." Maurice interrupted at Van Dorn's shoulder. Van Dorn nodded, stood up and started after the bartender.

"'Or maybe that was exactly' what?" Lola prompted. Van Dorn grinned back at her.

"Or maybe that was exactly what you wanted."

Lola's eyes burned though she knew better than to say a word tainted by anger. Still, she'd told him what he wanted to know. She was good at manipulating but couldn't tell when _she_ was the rat in the maze.

**I just wanted to note since I didn't make it clear that Kowalski only caught a quick glimpse of Doris in the crowd after he trial which was enough for him to win his bet. She did turn up at the office and I fit that scene in by arguing that he was starting to wonder if he really had seen her which explains why he was so depressed before Doris turned up at his office.**


	11. Alibi

"I've been wondering," Private spoke looking at the odd shadows on the brown and red brick buildings. He'd never walked down the street at night – it had always been running to the car or evacuating for one of Skipper's drills – and it was interesting, if slightly spooky to see it at this time, "How did you meet Blowhole? Great Uncle Nigel said you came to them saying you had information on Blowhole Sr.?"  
"Oh, it was at a party," Kowalski replied with a dreamy look, "A friend of mine was trying to set up Invexpo, a conference for great minds to share ideas and such and he needed funding. Well, to get that kind of backing there was only two people to go to and you could only pick one or the other."  
"I suppose your friend thought K'walski would impose a lot of limitations based on what would be beneficial to his company."  
"I guess so, I never asked why he picked Blowhole," Kowalski replied, "I turned up to the fundraiser welcoming the chance to talk with like-minded souls and I ended up talking to him. All I knew was that his name was Francis, he liked inventing and he was kind of cute. I was already seeing him – quietly of course, his father was trying to get him into some kind of political marriage – when I realized just who he actually was. I suppose he wanted it that way."  
Kowalski stopped talking when he entered the range of Skipper's listening devices but Private could guess the rest. In a way he felt staunchly protective of Kowalski and Blowhole, and he was pretty sure it was directly related to memories of his days as Mr Tux and what could have been with beautiful Shauna. Oh, fate could be cruel!  
Kowalski's hand reached into his pocket and he fished about for his key, eventually finding it caught inside an empty boiling tube. He removed the key and approached the lock when the door swung open. Skipper was stood on the other side, looking the two over with an odd expression.  
"Oh, hi Skippah," Private replied, all too aware that his voice had jumped an octave or two and he was speaking at twice his normal speed, "We um… I was having trouble sleeping so I went for a walk."  
"Who won the fight?" Skipper questioned bluntly. Private frowned.  
"Fight?"  
"Yeah." Skipper looked him over again and Private had the strangest feeling that didn't bode well for him, "Your jacket's covered in gravel and it looks like someone narrowly grazed your shoulder." Private looked down, making a quick examination of himself.  
"Oh, I fell." He replied. Skipper nodded, but didn't seem to believe him and it wasn't just a paranoid mood.  
"Have a nice evening Kowalski?" Skipper questioned coldly, "You still haven't introduced me to Doris."  
"Oh, nothin like that, I was missing a few parts for something I was working on." Kowalski lied.  
"And you could find them in the middle of the night?"  
"Yeah, you'd be surprised." Skipper gave them one more once over before standing aside to let them pass. It was then Private made an observation of his own:  
"Skippah, there's a leaf caught on your jacket."  
"Funny thing, I decided to take a walk around the same time." Skipper replied with that same oddly hostile tone as he brushed the dried leaf away. He didn't close the door even as Private was half way up the stairs and Private noticed that too, "Going out Skippah?"  
"Yeah, I've got a meeting."  
"In the middle of the night?" Private frowned.  
"Leads don't wait for you to get your eight hours."

* * *

Marlene pushed the papers on her desk wearily aside. It was no use, the words were already blurring together on the page. She grabbed her coat from a nearby chair and tossed it over her arm.  
"Shelly said she had some stuff to show me," Marlene replied in almost a half yawn, "I'll be out for a couple of hours – might catch a few seconds sleep – do you want me to make another pot of coffee on my way out?"  
"Thanks, I'm fine," Parker replied, glancing up from his files. It was only then that Marlene noticed the intensity that had taken on his whole being and after acknowledging her as was only polite his eyes raced straight back to what he was reading, "I think I'm on to something," Parker explained.  
"Found out who our mystery blackmailer is?" Marlene questioned.  
"No, but I'm close," Parker replied with that suave smile of his; it was the equivalent of one of Skipper's grins. She preferred the grin, "If you're heading home, ask your fiancé what he knows about the break in at Consolidated Amalgamated."  
"It's tied in with the blackmail?"  
"Possibly, it's a shot in the dark," he replied. He lifted up the single file that occupied his desk, "This," he pointed dramatically to it, "Is gonna tell me."  
"You want me to stay and go over it with you?" Marlene yawned.  
"Nah, it might just be nothing," Parker replied. Marlene nodded and started for the door, "Wait, one more thing." She paused, "If things turn out like I hope, do you know what number I can reach that Van Dorn character on? Skipper's is on your desk, right?"  
"Sure," She replied and scribbled the number on a scrap piece of paper. Not long after she'd left Parker picked up the phone and dialled Skipper's home number. No answer. He'd try the office.

* * *

"I just don't get it," Skipper whispered, his elbow leaned on the table at the Copacabana and his head rested dejectedly on his wrist, "I just can't believe what I saw! I almost wish I hadn't followed Private to the park."  
"It's kind of been the most well-known unspoken secret amongst anyone who's been in the Department more than ten years," Van Dorn replied, not sharing Skipper's dismay, though he'd been concerned enough for Skipper to agree to meet almost immediately, "You were just one on a very small list of people who didn't know, and for good reason."  
"But what did I do wrong?" Skipper continued, entirely mission Van Dorn's emphasis on 'and for good reason', "Did I make him work too late? Was it that last undercover job…? Maybe it was K'walski…!"  
"Now you're just sounding ridiculous," Van Dorn interrupted him. One of the first Kowalski's traits Van Dorn would never be able to admire was his narrow-mindedness. It had lost him plenty of good operatives, and apparently Kowalski had installed it quite deeply in Skipper as well. Van Dorn didn't really care either way, a position he took with most things since it made it easier to just pick what worked best for his goals.  
"I'm not sure I'll ever be able to see him the same way again," Skipper mourned, "If there's no explanation… Kowalski's a good officer, I just don't understand…"  
"Exactly, he's a good officer," Van Dorn interrupted, seizing his chance, "Now after realizing he's dating Blowhole Jr.…" Skipper noticeably winced, "is his marksmanship score going to drop?"  
"I don't think so…" If Van Dorn could revive the dead he'd be bringing back Kowalski now just to kill him again.  
"My point is," Van Dorn continued, "Back when I had a team I had no idea what they did in their personal lives. As long as it didn't hurt me or the objective, I didn't care what they did or what they thought. Are you following me?"  
"No, not at all," Skipper replied, "How can you know if what they're doing in their spare time isn't harmful if you don't know?"  
"Trust."  
"Cloak and dagger 101, there's nobody you can trust."  
Van Dorn sighed, seeing it was really no good. Though Skipper was quite the effective agent there were a number of important shortcomings mostly in the evidence collecting, diplomatic and administrative departments in which Kowalski was unparalleled. Still, being told he needed Kowalski wasn't something the kid would take much better.  
"How do you know it was Kowalski?" Van Dorn asked. Skipper frowned, "I mean, how do you know it's not one of Blowhole's schemes to break up the team? You know, everything you saw a trick?"  
"I guess I could ask…"  
"But do you trust him to tell you the truth?" skipper had to think about that one.  
"I could put him under constant surveillance..."  
"You wanna divert men off the Dale case? Or call men off dealing with that Hans character in Denmark?" Van Dorn could see his bizarre logic slowly sinking in, "Let me put it this way, you're never gonna know for sure, so why stress about it? It's like the sticks and stones thing; all you're doing is letting Blowhole get to you."  
"So I just put the file in the back of the archives and forget anything happened?" Skipper questioned.  
"You can do whatever you want with the file since it's completely pointless." Van Dorn confirmed and skipper grinned back at him glad to have the excuse.  
"Telephone for Mr Grant," the waiter interrupted behind them, "A Mr Newton. It's urgent." Skipper rolled his eyes.  
"Just once I'd like to get to desert."  
"You wanna get to desert, join the postal service."

* * *

Skipper could see Van Dorn examining the scene with a practiced eye, occasionally asking permission to take a sample of something. He'd then whip out a small envelope, carefully preserve a quantity of the sample inside and mark it with its location, contents, the date and his initials.  
Skipper should have been in there doing the same thing and he couldn't understand why he wasn't allowed anywhere near the scene or to know who the victim was. All he knew was that a man had been killed in Marlene's office and that Kowalski had called him once again sounding as wired as a power plant. In fact, he could only see what Van Dorn was doing through a minuscule crack between the door and the frame and the only things he could see of the murder scene was an empty desk and a bit of the decesed's shoulder.  
"Sir, would you tell me what's going one?" Skipper demanded as Rockgut finally entered the room, a kind of waiting area outside Marlene's office.  
"Skipper, make like you were gonna fire a shot at me." Rockgut ordered, taking a seat at the desk. Skipper looked at him as if he was nuts, "Keep the safety on and all that, but would you just humour me?"  
"Sure." Skipper replied, reaching for his gun.  
"Nope, put it back."  
"What?" Skipper protested, but did as he was told.  
"You've had a tough evening, haven't you?" Rockgut psychoanalyzed. Skipper scowled.  
"It's got nothing to do with Department business so it's none of yours." he countered.  
"Well why don't you use some of that anger?"  
Following his orders Skipper made a fast and careless grab for his weapon, drew it and only stopped short of firing it at Rockgut as per his instructions.  
"And you would have hit me about here?" Rockgut questioned, motioning to roughly around his lung.  
"I was roughly going for the heart but I figured I wouldn't have time to aim much if I was really angry, so, possibly."  
"You witness that?" he asked Kowalski who Skipper now realised was standing at the door looking uncomfortable and glancing frequently at Rockgut.  
"Would you hold still in that position, sir?" the Kowalski requested and with another withering look Skipper did as he was told. Kowalski took some measurements and made a few calculations on his clipboard. Slowly and almost as if he was trying to stall as much as possible Kowalski stood up and reluctantly turned to Rockgut, "Angle's exactly the same sir. If he'd shot you the wound would be exactly the same as P…"  
"The corpse's," Rockgut interrupted standing up and motioned for skipper to take a seat, and taking the gun out of his stunned hand. He passed it to Kowalski, "Have it tested."  
"Would you please tell me what's going on?" skipper demanded not liking the looks of things. Rockgut just paced in front of him, summing him up.  
"Van Dorn said when you called you were in quite a state. All he told me was that your problem had nothing to do with the case and I believe him. So you two went to the Copacabana and talked things out – maybe had a drink or two," Rockgut paused, drawing out the suspense like a good interrogator, "Your look alike's a smooth talker, and he probably worked wonders on you but no problem gets solved just like that," he snapped his fingers, "especially one important enough that you'd go calling a superior at one in the morning. So, if you were still upset, where would you go? Probably talk to Marlene."  
"I guess so, but I didn't," Skipper answered cautiously, "some problems do get solved in one conversation."  
"Well why don't you tell me what this problem was, cupcake?"  
"'S confidential, sir," Skipper replied and Rockgut's eyes narrowed like a lion spotting the weak member of the pack.  
"Well since I have yet to come across a problem where that wouldn't happen let's say you went to talk to your fiancée. She'd be at this office but tonight she was out doing field work and her contact was with her right up to when she found the body." Abruptly Rockgut changed tactics, though didn't catch Skipper off guard as he'd hoped. It was an old trick, "Have you ever heard of a Lloyd Parker?"  
"Yeah," Skipper replied, "He's Marlene's client's representative."  
"Are you jealous of him?"  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
"She thinks you are."  
"I wasn't. Listen," Skipper stood up, feeling too much like a suspect sitting down, "I don't know why you're trying to tie me in to this Parker guy. I might have jokingly said something about him and Marlene but I trust Marlene. If she wants to work with him she can."  
"Well she can't anymore."  
"Why not?"  
"Cause he's dead." Rockgut replied casually, "'Walski, those photos done?" Kowalski nodded and silently left the room returning with a photograph still wet from being developed. Skipper was surprised Marlene had let them use her dark room, "See," Rockgut pointed to the enlargement of the desk. Sure enough in a rough, bloody scrawl were the letters 'Ski' then they trailed off as if he'd had a better idea, his finger dragging upwards to the other letters making almost a 'J' on the table. A half smudged away 'W' was followed by a kind of backwards 'G', like a backwards one of those art deco 'G's that look like a semi-circle with the last quarter missing.  
"Now where were you between one am and two thirty, since that's where Kowalski puts the time of death?"  
Much to Rockgut's surprise Skipper's nervousness dissolved and a satisfied smirk grew on his face and it was now his turn to control the conversation.  
"Rockgut, you're a brilliant agent and I really admire you," Skipper lectured even if he knew he was probably putting himself on probation, "But you should do your homework before you start accusing me of stuff. This is the second time I've had a pretty damn obvious alibi. Special Agent Van Dorn!" Skipper shouted down the corridor.  
"Yeah?" The man in question poked his head into the office.  
"Where was I between one and one thirty?" Van Dorn glanced from one man to the next with a kind of amused smile on his face.  
"Trying to accuse you again, is he?" Van Dorn finally chuckled in reply, "He was with me between one and one forty five."  
"Exactly." Skipper concurred, "You've got the whole Copacabana as witnesses too." Skipper paused, a new train of thought jumping to mind, "You seem to have it out for me, don't you? First it was the airplane. I obviously couldn't have made it to England and back in time and you had to have Kowalski prove it to you three ways before you believed him. Now this time, it could have been anyone with initials like mine and if three guys can all have the nickname Skipper why not four? But you just have to accuse me first." Rockgut glared at him and Skipper started to regret being so direct.  
"Alright, my main problem is this: I wouldn't put it past Kowalski to have all kinds of goodies hidden away in your mind," Rockgut snapped, "One false word could set off all kinds of stuff, and it's a very rational fear of mine that I might just be the one to say it." Skipper frowned. He actually did have a point, "What if I already said it? This murder, the stolen files, maybe even Jones' kidnapping could have all been you and you might not even know it. Maybe you do know it and you just can't stop yourself. It doesn't really matter."  
"Well it wasn't me," Skipper countered, "And I wish you'd told me earlier; I could have had my Kowalski check for any of that kind of stuff even if it does sound completely crazy."  
"Crazy, yeah, but I ran into a guy a while back and it was no secret he was experimenting with that kind of stuff…"  
The door of the office flew open with a bang and Kowalski moped back in. Skipper hadn't realized he'd left.  
"Order me not to say another word, sir," He demanded. Skipper looked at him like he'd lost it.  
"Well I'm ordering you to tell me why you said that, which would require you to speak." Skipper countered much to Kowalski's dismay.  
"Sir…"  
"Don't try it Kowalski, I can just order Skipper to order you to belay the order not to talk," Rockgut cut him off, "What have you found?" Kowalski reluctantly dragged his clipboard out.  
"Evidence of dry ice on the body, sir," the scientist reported grimly, "Someone evidently tried to mess with the time of death; make him seem dead longer than he really was."  
"What would you say it is now?"  
"Well, it's hard to be sure…" Kowalski got a 'don't even think about it' look, "Between around 0230 and 0345."  
"Well, Skipper," Rockgut smirked confidently, "What were you doing around then?" Skipper's shoulders slumped.  
"Walking around, trying to think things out." He replied, knowing just how bad an alibi that was and what Rockgut was going to ask next to make it worse.  
"Anyone see you?"  
"No, the streets were empty."  
"Thought so. Well, Skipper, the writing's on the desk…"  
"I killed Lloyd Parker," Van Dorn suddenly interrupted and all eyes turned to him, "Parker was one of Blowhole's agents. I couldn't let it get to Blowhole that I was the one who suggested to Kowalski that he get rid of Blowhole Sr. once and for all."  
That wasn't even possible and Skipper was going to say as much when Kowalski passed him the note.  
"It'll only be a few days before they realize I couldn't have done it. Clear yourself."


	12. The Trap

"'oo fingerpaintin'?" Rico asked, barely stifling a laugh. Skipper turned around to see him standing in the doorway of the newspaper covered room watching him with undisguised amusement.

"No." Skipper replied firmly and when he raised his fingers the substance covering them didn't look much like paint, "I'm trying to recreate those letters on the desk. Kowalski said this stuff is a pretty good simulation of blood," he paused, "Get me another piece of paper?"

"A'right." Rico answered and grabbed another sheet off the floor and placed it on the desk Skipper was working at. Skipper dipped his fingers in the pot of red substance next to him and resumed his task, "Wha' oo interested in th' marks?"

"'s kinda the most damning thing about the whole case," Skipper replied, "Without those initials it could have been anyone." He dragged his fake blood spattered hand exasperatedly over his last unsuccessful attempt, "I don't really know what I'm looking for: probably a way that Parker meant to write something else or a way to prove the killer wrote it to frame me."

"Don' envy ya." Rico muttered as he watched Skipper's fingers splatter the page with blood but somehow his attempts either came out too smudged or too clean or just didn't have anything in common with the marks Rico had seen at all. It really looked a tedious and repetitive task.

Oddly enough Rico's mind began to wonder on to what Skipper could have been if Kowalski hadn't taken an interest in him. As he watched skipper it kind of occurred to him that he could have been an artist. He certainly looked like one sitting there doing his finger painting. That was when it hit him. "Ippah?"

"Yeah?"

"He ain' sittin' up straigh'."

"He what?" Rico produced one of the evidence slips from his pocket and tossed it in front of skipper; he wasn't any kind of a writer or public speaker, he'd be there hours trying to explain how the body had looked in words. Skipper accepted the plain white envelope which was marked, "Photograph of scene taken from doorway, Parker homicide, J. VD."

"Va' Dorn palmed a 'opy, ya c'n keep it, R'ckgut don' know." Rico informed as Skipper opened it. Sure enough he noticed Rico's point almost immediately. Parker was for one thing certainly not sitting up with perfect posture like Skipper was and his finger was poised over the backwards 'G' like he had just finished writing it.

"Thanks Rico." Skipper smiled adjusted his position to match the photograph and dragged his hand across the paper in a similar manor as he tried to replicate the letters: the bold 'Ski' with the check mark like smudge as the finger dragged itself from the 'I'' to up to the unfinished 'W' that was barely distinguished from a 'V' by an almost invisible smudge and the backward G, "You know, Rico?" he removed his hand and turned back around to face the weapons specialist who was still patiently watching, "Something about that last thing Van Dorn said stuck in my head." Skipper frowned, "He seemed awfully certain of when they'd prove him innocent, if ever. My gut says there's something he's not telling us."

* * *

Skipper and Rico glanced quizzically at each other as the agent leading the way hit the button for the tenth floor instead of the minus eighth where the cell blocks were. They both knew the building quite well and there was nothing on the tenth except offices.

"We wanna see Van Dorn," Skipper reminded as the elevator started upwards.

"I know, I'm takin' ya to him." The agent replied.

"We can talk to Rockgut afterwards," Skipper argued as the doors opened and they stepped out on to the tenth floor, "I wanna talk to the suspect now."

"I ain't takin' you to Rockgut, I'm takin' you to Van Dorn." The agent continued to claim leading them down the corridor. Upon reaching Rockgut's office waved his card over the seriously overcomplicated lock and started off as if his duty was done.

"Hey, buddy, we would have gone willingly, you know." Skipper called after him, "But would you at least stick around to take us to Van Dorn afterward?"

"I took you to Van Dorn, I'm not hangin' around," The agent countered, "I've got other stuff to do."

"Thi' Rockgut's office!" Rico protested angrily and clearly intended to press the issue further.

"Rico," Skipper interrupted holding the door open, and when Rico looked sure enough Van Dorn was inside with his feet up on the barren oak desk. Come to think of it the whole office was cleared out save for the desk and the chair.

"I'm on 'office arrest', like house arrest but with an office," Van Dorn greeted with a cheery laugh that didn't fit someone being held for murder, "It's this new thing they're trying on high profile agents since they know cells don't do much to slow us down." Skipper took a step forward in sheer amazement, "Don't step forward, the whole floor's mined!" Van Dorn shouted, and Skipper immediately returned to the safety of behind the door, "No, I'm just kidding – not about the floor! – they're just preparing my next cell." Once again Skipper looked at him as if he'd completely lost it, "They're moving me from room to room so I don't get long enough to plan an escape route. They knock me out too, so I don't pick the locks on my handcuffs and escape the guards."

"Is it effective?" Skipper asked incredulously.

"Frankly, yes," Van Dorn replied on a more serious note, "I think I might be able to do it if I knew the building, like where communication lines and air vents run, but otherwise I haven't got a chance."

"You're seriously stuck?" Skipper repeated. Well there went his backup plan to just escape if they caught him.

"I dunno, I've only been here three days," Van Dorn replied, "But you haven't come here to try and plan your future escape."

"I came to ask what else you knew," Skipper replied, "I didn't get much chance yesterday, considering."

"I don't think I know anything you don't." Van Dorn shrugged.

"Maybe it's something you don't realize you know. I don't know," Skipper tried to pace but realized only just in time he'd almost stepped into the mine field. He gave up on the pacing pretty quickly, "I don't know," He repeated, "something you said stuck in my head: "It'll only be a few days before they realize I couldn't have done it.."

"I don't see how that implies I know something, but it was just an innocent slip of the tongue, I'm afraid," Van Dorn answered regretfully, "I wish I did know something, you seem desperate."

"What made you think they'd realize it couldn't have been you, it must have been something," Skipper elaborated, "We've got the same alibi – you were out driving when I was out walking – it was a risky bet to make that they'd prove your innocence."

"Oh, that." Van Dorn replied, "Sorry, it's a habit of mine to always hold back as much of my hand as I can. After I left you, sure I was out driving, but I also got a ticket. I speed when I think too hard."

"And Rockgut's gonna find the ticket," Skipper sighed. Well that would do it for them, "And I'm guessing he already suspects you 'confessed' to buy me time. Are you sure you don't know _anything_?"

"Sorry," the imprisoned agent apologised, "But I've got the same alibi as you, so I can only know as much as you do."

* * *

"So your genius breakthrough is…?" Kowalski prompted excitedly leaning over the lab work surface, oblivious of the Bunsen burner only inches from him.

"Careful, you're about to set yourself on fire," Blowhole warned, and Kowalski immediately corrected his position, "No, it's not a genius breakthrough, it's just a little theory – that's still genius because it's mine – and I probably could have told you over the telephone but…"

"I don't mind. So, what's the breakthrough?"

"Well, Parker was working for me…"

"With a name like _Ms Doris Francis_ there was never any doubt about that." Kowalski smirked.

"Yes, that was entirely intentional; I wanted to make sure you wouldn't interfere if Parker started asking awkward questions." Blowhole answered. He summed up his companion, holding out the suspense. Kowalski really hated it when he did that, "A few weeks ago Roger turned up at the hideout with a note, just like how Dale communicated with me and the others. Well, as you can see," He removed a piece of paper from the drawer of his beloved chemical stained and acid corroded desk along with another similar sheet though the paper of the second seemed a good bit older, "The handwriting's identical. I asked some of the others who cut a deal with Kowalski and so didn't end up in the morgue with Dale, Darla and her sisters and Leonard and they got similar ones."

"So Dale's starting up again?" Kowalski questioned, "That's his master plan?"

"No, look closer," he pointed to a single word in the text. It was spelled incorrectly, "Dale didn't write this: he was a real stickler for spelling, you know, that wouldn't have slipped past him. This was why I hired Parker and Marlene. I wanted to know who really wrote that."

"And Marlene says Parker thought he was on to something," Kowalski replied. Suddenly his face brightened into an overly confident grin, "I've guessed your entire plan."

"You have?"

"I have," he smirked, "Using the little that Parker told Marlene you're going to send it down the grape vine that Parker sent some kind of last message telling you what he'd found out and wait for the mystery person to come after you at which point me and Skipper bring him in."

"You're warm," Blowhole replied much to Kowalski's disappointment, "All correct, except I don't want him coming after me, and also everyone would know it's a trap if I said it."

"So I'm going to say it?"

"No, the same excuses apply to you. I was thinking you should tell that Van Dorn character what you've deduced I know and he can make the announcement. He seems like the type who can take care of himself. Then you convince him to tell the world _he_ found it out so that you can use him as bait and we have our fake Simon Dale."

The two grinned like school children as Kowalski set off to make the arrangements. Van Dorn told him it naturally wouldn't be hard for him to hint something about his knowing the motive for Parker's murder to one of the guards and would do so as soon as was practical. All they'd have to do was wait, as Roger told him after Kowalski had explained his plan and a special detail was concealed outside Van Dorn's cell all night. Nothing happened. Well, nothing until Kowalski got Blowhole's frantic phone call sometime in the middle of the night ranting about how his lab and office had been turned upside down. And it wasn't a random search either. The mysterious entrant had searched exactly the places Blowhole could be expected to conceal a document of value.

* * *

"Go ahead and report, Kowalski, I can finger paint and listen to you at the same time." Skipper prompted.

"Well," the scientist began, "I conducted a little experiment. I heard from a friend that Parker was actually working for Dr Blowhole…Careful of your sleeve, Skipper!"

Skipper looked down and sure enough his sleeve had dragged through the fake blood, leaving a second smudge directly under the one he'd been drawing with his finger.

"Sardines, that one was turning out pretty accurate!" Skipper sighed in annoyance and moved his hand to another area of blank paper to start again.

"Wait a minute, Skipper," Kowalski approached the desk, carefully examining the markings, "That looks just like in the photo." Sure enough the mark his sleeve had made completed the 'W' with a feint smudge just as in the original, which got him thinking.

"If that mark was made with his sleeve maybe Parker meant to write a 'V'," Skipper theorised, "So we're looking for a 'Ski… V. G.'"

"You know, that line there," he pointed to the long smudge that went from the 'Ski' to the 'V', "Looks very well defined. Almost deliberate."

"So he wrote 'Ski/V.G.? Two killers or he wasn't sure who the killer was but knew it was one of two people?"

"But there's that curve at the bottom. Do you think it could be a 'J'? 'Ski… J. V. G.'? Then there's the 'G'," Kowalski was certainly on a roll, Skipper was wondering why he hadn't set him on it earlier, "Why would he write it backwards? It's easier to write it forwards and he was running out of time and strength. Maybe he meant to write something else?"

"The only thing I can think of is an unfinished 'D', if it wasn't a random smudge." Skipper replied, "Then that would spell 'Ski… J. V. D." Immediately Skipper froze, "Skipper. John Van Dorn." He frowned, and then clearly dismissed the idea, "Nah, that's ridiculous. Kowalski, search personnel for anyone with the initials J. V. D." The scientist, however, was taking the initials far more seriously.

"But that would work… no it… Possibly… No that ties in exactly…" Skipper heard him thinking aloud, writing frantically on his clipboard while Skipper was washing the fake blood off his hands, "Skipper," the scientist spoke when he came back , "What I was going to tell you about…" Kowalski recounted his trap - with a few adjustments to the truth to cover his conversations with the enemy - and how it was Blowhole and not Van Dorn who had been searched for the note, "But this is where it fits in, Skipper: the only person who would have believed Blowhole had the note was Van Dorn. At first I dismissed it because he's locked up. I assumed he'd leaked it to someone else, but then I remembered Parker had tied his killer into the robbery at Consolidated Amalgamated…"

"And Kowalski had the complete plans of the HQ." Skipper finished grimly, "So Van Dorn can walk in and out as he pleases just like Kowalski. The perfect alibi."


	13. Means and Motive

Naturally, with a discovery of this nature a team meeting had to be called and immediately one was. Five minutes before almost all of them would have sworn up and down that Johnny Van Dorn was the best agent who was more like a mentor to walk the earth and on a personal level they'd all felt he was the kind of guy you could talk to. None of them would have had any doubts about trusting the man with their lives. Some, like Private, were still struggling to grasp that he wasn't all he seemed and was desperately searching for any point where his guilt could be questioned.

"We've got a problem." Skipper announced to his subordinates. This had been the first meeting in some time where it had been taken entirely seriously without the slightest hint of mischievous comedy on anyone's part.

"He's already locked up." Kowalski countered, "Don't we just tell Rockgut he's our killer?"

"But he can walk in and out of the HQ as he pleases, not to mention our evidence is pretty flimsy," Skipper countered, "The slightest hint we're on to him and he's gone. Which is why we can't tell Rockgut he's guilty yet – he's got less appreciation for tact and cunning than I have and will insist on his own investigation unless we have a pretty good case – which means by extension means we can't prove I'm innocent. I'm surprised Rockgut hasn't already found the speeding ticket."

"Can't we tell Rockgut and have him moved to another facility he doesn't know?" Private asked, "We wouldn't have to tell him we were moving him so he couldn't escape."

"Don't you think it would seem pretty suspicious to have him moved after spending hundreds of dollars equipping various rooms in the HQ to contain him?" Skipper pointed out, "Anyway, we'd probably have to move him out of the state or possibly out of the country. We've got no idea how many possible places to hold him Kowalski took the precaution of getting the plans for."

"Skippah," Private frowned, "I still don't get why he'd confess to his own crime to save you?"

"We've been over this Private," Kowalski answered, "The answer's alibi."

"But he didn't know he'd have to steal the note from Blowhole," Private countered, "And I think he knew before this came up we'd never suspect him."

"He was probably planning something and needed the alibi for that," Skipper brushed the question off, getting back to the main topic of the meeting, "There's two ways we can prove to Rockgut beyond any doubt that he's guilty, so I'm splitting us into two teams: team one's gonna be looking for a motive – and that's for both the robbery and the murder – and try and find out what his bigger plan is; team two is going to try to work out how he stole the files and work out where he hid them. Alright boys, let's find some evidence." Much to Skipper's confusion nothing happened for several seconds, his subordinates staring blankly at him, "I just told you the plan, get a move on."

"You ain' tol' us what 'eams we're on." Rico pointed out.

"Um, yeah," Skipper glanced down at his notes obviously embarrassed, "Team one will consist of myself and Private, and Kowalski and Rico are team two."

* * *

"Oh, so you wanna talk to me this time?" Rockgut commented sarcastically, though Skipper knew he wasn't at all concerned about his deliberate avoiding of his superior on his last visit, it was just his need to open with something demeaning to the other person. Sarcasm was about as good as it got, so Skipper had a feeling Rockgut was actually glad to see him, "Well, what do you want?"

"Me and my boys were thinking over the initials," Skipper replied. Rockgut scoffed, but didn't interrupt further, "And Kowalski says it's more likely Parker meant to write 'J. V. D.' after the first three letters of Skipper. Obviously you know I'm thinking of Special Agent Van Dorn…"

"Now that's crazy, Skipper," Rockgut now saw fit to protest, "The guy incriminated himself to save you, I'd call that stabbing him in the back…"

"But Kowalski also says he doesn't think Parker was naming his murderer," Skipper elaborated, "Parker was working on a case for Blowhole Jr. remember, an important one, don't you think it's more likely he'd write as much of a clue to what he was working on as he could in the time?"

"Parker was a mercenary, one with a reputation for caring about only two things: himself and his pay check," Rockgut countered, "Stop thinking of what you would do if someone had shot you and think from his perspective." Well, there went attempt no.1. Good thing his ability to think up excuses with perfect timing had gotten him the title 'Specialist in unstable and adaptable situations.'

"But I also heard he cares a lot about his reputation for solving every case." Skipper added. He could see Rockgut hadn't checked up on that one, "Kowalski did a full psychological profile, sir."

"Alright," Rockgut finally agreed after a couple of excruciating seconds of thinking, "What do you want?"

"I want to go through Van Dorn's office to see if there's anything relevant to the case."

"Well go ask him and I'll think about it."

"I already have, sir, and he's fine with it," another lie, "All I need is the key."

* * *

Rockgut scrutinised the letter reading it through once, twice and a third time for good measure. Skipper, on the other side of Special Agent Van Dorn's New York field office had yet to find something of such interest as he robotically removed a file from the cabinet, glanced at the title and flipped through it then replaced it again before starting on the next.

"You sure he said you could search the office?" Rockgut asked finally looking up from the letter. He handed Skipper the piece of paper, "He's contradicted his statement in two places here." Skipper nodded distractedly as he skimmed through the communication, the gist of which was Van Dorn confirming to Timothy Jones that Dale was irrefutably dead in the course of reminiscing about old times and informing the ex-director that he'd be in England around the date of the kidnapping and would be happy to drop by, "Considering this the only thing I can think of is that he's protecting someone."

Skipper wanted to refute that statement and correct that the person the agent was protecting was himself but his previous conversation had only reinforced that his current superior would have no stain on the guilty agent's character. It was still a question to him why Van Dorn would bring Simon Dale back to life. The most likely guess was that he wanted a smoke screen for his own activities.

"What's on your side of the fence?" Rockgut asked snapping Skipper out of his theorising.

"Case files." He replied.

"What kinda files, I wanna know who he's protecting."

"Well, cases he's worked on over the years, the current case," Skipper listed, "There's a pretty big section on the 1956 Knight homicide too. It seems like he kept working on it all these years, even after Kowalski killed Rico."

"Y'know, that's kinda funny," Rockgut mused and then seemingly changed the subject, "See, the bit his perjurous statement messes up is how Nigel says Jones greeted the guy."

"What? It clears things up since Jones was supposed to be expecting him?"

"But according to the copy of this letter he was expecting him as a friend," Rockgut countered, "And Nigel described the 'I've been waiting for you to turn up,' as one of those dark mysterious ones that only melodramatic people like Tim use. What I'm thinking is…" he paused again, "Nigel's description matched Van Dorn so we never questioned it – just like you, but older, that's Van Dorn – but he never actually identified a photograph at something. I can only think of one other person who'd match Nigel's description and it would tie in with all those files on the Knight case…"

"With all due respect, sir," Now he was definitely off on the wrong track. So much for just getting a quiet look at the suspect's effects; Skipper didn't like where this was headed, "the one thing we do know for a fact is that my father is _definitely_ dead."

"The only thing you knew for certain before last year was that _Kowalski_ was definitely dead."

"I was there when he died." Skipper contested.

"But you were too young to remember."

"I remember bits and pieces! It was muddy when Kowalski dragged himself off, but it's hard to have any doubts when the person in question was shot twice point blanc."

"Skipper, I want your permission to exhume both sets of remains," Rockgut continued stubbornly locked into his new theory, "I wanna check the bodies against the dental records."

"Well ask mom if you want to do that, I personally don't really care if you toss the remains into Mount Etna," Skipper replied, more than a little annoyed at the direction events were taking, "But don't you think we should investigate to see if those files have anything to do with the murder…"

"I'm more interested in the kidnapping, Skipper," Rockgut interrupted firmly, "Jones may be running out of time or already dead. As long as you're not under arrest, you're working for me so you'll be working on the kidnapping. You can acquit yourself in your own time." He did have a solid point there, if Skipper didn't know that Van Dorn was plotting world domination or something – what else would a person do with Kowalski's notes? "My theory on how this ties into Van Dorn is that he saw Grant kidnap Jones – just stumbled into it, no person in the background of the security footage - but figured nobody would believe him so told his story tweaking it to work for Simon Dale then your dad just ran with it."

"Look, you can't seriously think…"

"I want you and Private to stick around for a few hours," Skipper's unreasonable superior ordered brushing past, dismissing the rest of the office as no longer worth his attention. Skipper knew he was expected to follow and reluctantly did resolving to go back to the office for a more in depth search, "I want that examination done in the next twenty four hours and I want you and Private present as witnesses and consultants…" This was just plain ridiculous.

* * *

"This don' make nah sense." Rico commented expressing what was on both their minds. Kowalski replied in the affirmative, "'f ee had a jet pack 't woul' make sense."

"Well he didn't have a jetpack, Rico, and even if he did we'd at least get trace evidence of that." Kowalski answered without looking up from his clipboard. The two had walked the supposed escape route at least twenty times. Van Dorn's assortment of planted clues had served the purpose for which they were intended but were clearly not made to stand up to sceptical scrutiny, only to back up the theory he fed them. For example, the hand print – which for the record had bothered Kowalski since he'd first seen it – could only have been made by someone going up the stairs. To fall going down with the right hand twisted to point up the stairs would require the fictitious Simon Dale to have made a one hundred and eighty degree turn to face up the stairs which wouldn't be wise as it would make him prone to tripping over his own feet and falling down the passage backwards.

What baffled Kowalski was that when you discarded the planted evidence there was nothing else. Well, there were latent foot prints going up the stairs but they were entirely undisturbed and there were no prints going back down. Essentially, Kowalski's prevailing theory was that he'd flown down.

"Let's go over the office again." Kowalski sighed, starting back up the stairs. Of course he'd considered that Van Dorn might have left the office in a way other than the passage or hidden in the office until he saw a chance to escape, any evidence trampled over by the movements of hundreds of agents and officers, but it seemed impossible. He and Rico had tried it every way they could think of as they were about to try again:

"Right, so the first bomb squad guy enters," Kowalski ran through the scenario, "the filing cabinet explodes and he's caught in the blast. The paramedic drags him out and takes him down with the help of Agent Willoughby and then the officers in just about every corridor of the top floor – they were covering all possible exits from the office – flood in. Go." Rico just stood there, shaking his head.

"There ain' nothing ah can try." He replied.

"Come on, there has to be something."

"Th' room' 'ot an exploded filin' cabinet, a desk an' a secret passage." Rico countered, "Ain' nowhere ya can hide and th' corridor's the o'ly other wa' out." Kowalski had to agree on that front.

"Well, maybe there was a way he got down the corridor without leaving any trace evidence…"

"Wa' he wearin' a hazmat suit?" Rico replied sarcastically. The whole corridor had been cleared out. a single hair, a footprint, a glove print in the cement dust and damp that covered the walls – he'd left evidence on the way up – would be all they'd need. There weren't wet footprints on the sidewalk outside either so he would have had to do the whole thing without getting a drop of water on him."

"What about Cooper, the guy who got caught in the blast?" Kowalski thought aloud, "Could that have been Van Dorn?"

"Willogh'y 'n the paramedic wa' watchin' 'im till 'e go' to the ambulance. He die' right after tha'." Rico shook his head, "th'ee people wen' out, tha' all."

"Actually, two people entered and…" Suddenly Kowalski froze, the gears turning in his head. Rico, however, beat him too it.

"Where'd th' pa'medic come from?" he grinned, "He' ain' gone up with th' off'cers."

* * *

"…It's simple, sir," Kowalski's bubbly voice chortled triumphantly into the phone. It had actually taken him some time to place the call after realizing that Kowalski had set up all outgoing calls to go through an old fashioned switchboard which had required Rico to run down and connect up the wires. Kowalski, in hindsight, should have known considering having such a switchboard was standard practice for any building where the person for which he had been code named had consulted on security. It had allowed him to personally approve or listen in on any call made. Coincidentally, the last call made from Kowalski's office had been to a number in Washington DC, "Van Dorn sets up the cars then blasts through into the bunker. He goes up the stairs, plants the hand print, enters the office and photographs the document. He sets the time bomb and throws on the paramedic's uniform.

"Cooper enters and gets caught up in the blast – I certainly hope Van Dorn had only intended to safely knock him out and claim it was the explosion – and he carries Cooper down to the ambulance. He takes off the uniform, walks over to the train station, waits for us to call him there about the robbery, then he drives back over saying he just got off the express from DC."

"Brilliant, Kowalski," Skipper complemented, "That must have been exactly how he did it."

"Of course it was, I deduced it." Skipper could hear practically hear Kowalski's arrogant smirk on the other end of the city. He really shouldn't have called him brilliant.

"Yeah, yeah, don't take it too far," skipper muttered, "And how'd he pull that trick with the phones?" silence, "You know, how I was on a call with him in Washington while he was photographing documents in New York?" More silence.

"Uh… Um… I'm going to have to get back to you on that one."

"Alright, well, I've got something for you," Skipper took the list from his pocket and unfolded it, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, "I've got a list of all the places Kowalski consulted at and/or designed so we know where we definitely can't move Van Dorn: The HQ, obviously, anything that at some point belonged to Consolidated Amalgamated Steel, the two weapons testing ranges, Ben Rockgut's headquarters in Washington DC – which Van Dorn knows anyway because his permanent office is there – and the Aquarium and Hoboken Penitentiaries."

"Well that makes life harder," Kowalski pouted, overreacting slightly though Skipper figured he was just upset over having not figured out the phone tracing trick, "Could you just give me one impossible task at a time?"

"Don't get your lab coat in a twist, that's all Rockgut's problem, I'm not asking you to build a place for escape artist agents." Skipper reassured.

"Skipper, get in here!" Rockgut shouted, though his voice was about the volume of a whisper due to the distance between them.

"Speak of the devil," Skipper muttered, "Alright, work on the telephones, I have to go see what 'cupcake' wants."

The call ended and Skipper started back to the evidence room, Private at his heels. He wasn't squeamish, he could tell private was, but he wasn't. The first Skipper would be mostly bones by now, right, and he'd seen corpses in worse shape. He'd hoped to avoid the whole thing, to be out of the building even, but Rockgut had barely let him out to call Kowalski.

"Skipper, do you remember any of it?" Private asked.

"Any of what?"

"Well, you were there… I mean, when Rico killed him…" Private elaborated tentatively, but not tentatively enough as Skipper's jaw set in a hard line.

"Bits and pieces," skipper replied, "Sounds, colours, vague fuzzy images and just the general atmosphere. Not really. I didn't even remember him as being my father."

"Are you worried that seeing… the remains will make you remember more?" Private pressed. The kid was being oddly intense.

"No." skipper replied, "I guess I'm nervous because in a way, I'm kinda gonna meet him for the first time."

"But does seeing stuff make it all come back at you?" Private questioned, "Like when you were fighting Rico?"

"Not if you tell yourself it's only an object." Skipper replied, "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

Skipper opened the doors entering the morgue where Rockgut was standing across from a lab coated in deep discussion. Fortunately, the remains of the first Skipper were nowhere in sight.

"Ah, Skipper!" Rockgut greeted the moment he saw his star agent and murder suspect enter, "We've got a problem."

"A problem sir?" Skipper replied.

"Yeah, when Rico shot him the second time it went through the head shattering half the jaw. Hey, funny little thing I found in the evidence locker, tag says it belongs to you now we're done with it," Rockgut removed the familiar shape of Kowalski's revolver, twirling it twice around his finger before tossing it to Skipper, "Anyway, without a jaw we can't make the ID on dental records…"

It was only then that Skipper connected the soft thump behind him and the fact that when he went to follow Rockgut there was no second set of footsteps. He looked behind him to see Private leaning against the wall looking pale, sweating like crazy. Rockgut gave him a barely concerned once over.

"What's his problem?" the superior asked.

"Was the conversation getting a little gruesome, Private?" Skipper asked with a kind of amused half smile. Private nodded shakily. He turned to Rockgut, "Mind if he goes home? He's just gonna keep doing this."

"Sure, whatever the kid wants." Rockgut replied with an expression that made it clear he was wondering how someone so squeamish had gotten into the department. Skipper walked over to Private to check if he was alright, pocketing the weapon and the boy seemed to relax. Soon enough he was walking out the door, "Alright, let's get back to business." Rockgut reminded. Skipper nodded grimly and started off to face his own fears when another lab coated man ran up to his superior.

"We made the identification, sir," the morgue technician reported.

"How'd you do that?" Rockgut asked.

"We found a piece of shrapnel embedded in his leg that matched a report from his doctor."

"So who is he?"

"The body is that of Blake Grant, known as Skipper."

"I really thought we had a lead." Rockgut groaned and started to leave, "You got delayed squeamishness, cupcake?" he questioned sighting Skipper's odd expression.

"No sir," Skipper replied hurriedly, so hurriedly he didn't check himself before he continued, "I don't care at all that he's actually dead."

"Right," Rockgut commented as skipper tried to back out of what the remark had implied, "You know, I don't think you killed Parker, you would have accidentally confessed already."


	14. Telephones

"High tech, my logic gate," Kowalski scoffed after telling the operator he wished to call New York, "I haven't had to put up with this kind of waiting since I was doing unofficial ops for Tim Jones."

"An' 'ey said 'walski was a genius." Rico concurred, "Ah say 'e jus' got lucky."

"It wasn't just luck," Kowalski countered, "There's benefits to this system – with manual control over the wires you can play a lot of tricks – but the wait's still… Rico, I've solved it…!"

"I'm sorry but the party you've been trying to reach is unavailable." The operator's voice interrupted Kowalski's moment of glory, "Would you like me to…"

"This may sound a little forward of me, but when do you get off shift?" Kowalski asked suddenly.

"Listen Mr…" came the rebuttal.

"I could have phrased that better," Kowalski tried to backtrack, "but it's for a case I'm working on, really…" Click. Kowalski turned around to see Rico doing little to disguise his laughter.

"Stymied b' a dame," he managed to form the words through his laughter, "Th' grea' detective."

"If I can work out how Van Dorn escaped a locked room surrounded by cops I can work out when she gets off shift," Kowalski replied, defending his pride. That didn't stifle Rico's giggling, though.

* * *

"So you were connecting calls for the entire duration of the robbery?" Kowalski questioned, "Ms…"

"Helga," the surly red head who's pale pallor testified to the fact she didn't see the sun much from her basement job replied, "Helga Bluestone. And yeah, I was."

"What was your relationship with the suspe… Agent Van Dorn, Miss Bluestone?"

"Johnny never did anything wrong!" She snapped, flushing slightly, "And you aren't getting anything out of me that would incriminate him!"

"I didn't realize you'd see him much," the investigator questioned. His eyes locked on the golden watch that encircled her wrist, "Nice little trinket. How long did it take you to save for it?" Around 40 years if he'd calculated her salary and cost of living accurately.

"A close friend gave it to me." She replied covering the watch hurriedly with her hand.

"Nice friend. And your relationship with Agent Van Dorn?"

"The most I've ever talked to him is when he places long distance calls," the woman replied reproachfully. But Kowalski wasn't falling for her dumb act. Her statements sounded rushed and emotional, but there were pauses between them and Kowalski could see her eyes glittering with intelligence, something only another person of a superior IQ like his could notice. There was something about the ease with which she thought he was fooling him that made it clear she'd fooled a lot of people with her act as she slowly manipulated them towards her goals, "Everyone I know 'll swear to that and he's been going steady with that Kitka tramp for years! He's just got a reputation as a good guy, that's all."

"You don't seem to think much of this Kitka."

"I've heard a couple of conversations, and she doesn't treat him right." She sniffed, realizing her mistake and cleverly backing away. Or was it a mistake? What was it she was trying to cover up? Suddenly the pieces clicked together in Kowalski's mind. What was it she was doing when he'd entered? Removing her hand from the tea pot. Odd thing for a girl to be doing: fishing around in an empty tea pot.

"Oh, so you listen to his personal conversations?" Kowalski asked. He'd string her out a little longer while he tried to think of a suitably dramatic way to expose her, "Have you listened to any of the more recent ones?"

"No." She was starting to feel safe in her little alibi. Now the time had come to send it all crashing down.

"Miss Bluestone, the game is over, you lose," Kowalski spoke. Bluestone frowned like a person who didn't quite understand the situation but he figured she was panicking inside, "You've been quite desperate to have me come to the conclusion that you and Van Dorn were closer than the average telephone operator and field agent as well as that he gave you the watch. I probably would have brushed your melodramatic story aside if it hadn't been for that watch."

He waited for Bluestone to protest – his favourite part of unmasking suspects – but she said nothing. She probably knew it wouldn't do her any good, "When I first entered the room you were fishing about in the empty tea pot. I have a feeling if I looked in there I'd find a couple of other valuable trinkets similar to your watch you'd dropped in there. Obviously, you didn't have time before I walked in to conceal everything so you had to convince me that the watch, the necklace and the brooch were presents from Van Dorn, which would also cover up your regular conversations with him," that was guesswork, but the girl's curious expression confirmed it as true, "In reality those were presents you'd bought yourself from the money he paid you as I would have found out if I'd become suspicious and investigated.

"I don't think it was until quite recently you connected the dots between Van Dorn's 'little favour' and the robbery. He probably figured you never would. Well, let me add to what you've been an accomplice to: in the early hours of the morning a man named…"

"Lloyd Parker was murdered in Marlene Adler's office," Bluestone finished for him, "I knew, I listen to a lot of conversations which is what you were going to trap me on if I'd denied knowledge of it." She was good.

"Now I'm pretty certain of what Van Dorn asked you to do, but explain it to my friend here and I'll check myself on it." Kowalski ordered and without resentment or constant attempts to convince him that she was a victim of circumstance Bluestone calmly complied. She walked back to her workplace, removing her bracelet and earrings from the teapot.

"I assume you'll want both a signed statement of this and you'll want me to explain it to your boss," she spoke. Spot on, "It'll save time if I call him and your friend takes down the statement based on what I say now so I only have to explain it once." Kowalski nodded and she placed the call to New York with the cool efficiency that was the real her, "Alright, it was pretty simple, the money was more for me to keep my mouth shut," She explained, "My instructions were that when a call from England came in instead of connecting the party with the office I was to connect the line to an outside number."

"What did that do?" Skipper's crackly voice in New York asked.

"It means your tracking device was fooled because the call did go to Washington; I stalled long enough while I was connecting it for the tracer to tell you Washington before I connected you to New York."

"So Van Dorn talked to me while he was photographing documents." Skipper concluded, getting an arrogantly exasperated sigh from Bluestone.

"Did you take down the number you were supposed to connect…?" Kowalski began to ask, but the telephone operator was already scribbling a number on a piece of paper.

"It was an unlisted New York number," She replied reading the number aloud for Rico's benefit before handing the piece of paper to Kowalski, "I did a little poking around in Van Dorn's address book and the number went to an office in the Consolidated Amalgamated Building, and I don't need to say whose office."

"Wha' the 'umber again?" Rico asked, looking up from his notepad.

"Miss Bluestone?" Kowalski prompted.

"'s on the piece of paper." She replied, an odd kind of half smile flashing on her face. As Kowalski unfolded it he saw why.

"There's two numbers on this."

"I know one of them's mine," She replied, "You know, you're the first guy who didn't fall for my act."

* * *

"There's no doubt he's guilty, sir," Skipper informed his boss who was looking back at him with a mixture of shock and thoughtfulness. The whole plot from the faked phone call, to the unused escape route, to the confession was a lot to digest.

"You've known all this for some time." Rockgut stated, "that's why you wanted to search the office, you were after motive. I'm guessing you didn't find it." his frown deepened, "I wanna know why you didn't tell me."

"I wanted it kept as quiet as possible." Skipper replied. Rockgut had apparently picked up on what could be inferred from this statement, and Skipper knew he was going to have to get his mind off it fast, "The point is, what can we do about it? We don't know where he's got the files and we probably never will. I've had Kowalski on this for the last thirty six hours and he seems to be stuck."

"We wait a couple of weeks, claim there's been a structural fault or we can bring one of his enemies back from the dead and claim we need to move him for his own protection. Meanwhile, we can find out who kidnapped Tim Jones."

"But we don't have weeks!" Skipper pleaded, "I'm a specialty on insane geniuses – I was trained to become one – and when they've got their master plan you don't have weeks."

"Well what do you suggest we do cupcake?" Rockgut snapped in reply, making it clear he wasn't particularly interested in the murder case and didn't think Skipper should be now he was cleared. But Skipper's gut said it wasn't just an ordinary agent going rogue and stealing plans for Blowhole or something and his gut was something he listened to, "I guess we can ignore the parking ticket; make him think he's really gonna be charged with murder. Then when he tries to escape we shoot him down."

"He'll be in the next state before you realize he's gone." Skipper muttered. Rockgut stood up from his desk, throwing his hands up in a dramatic gesture.

"You seem to have a hell of a lot of reasons why we can't do something, but nothing we can do," his superior exclaimed, "I guess Van Dorn'll keep for twenty four hours, I'm gonna sleep on it." And like that he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

_Well, that could have been handled better._ Skipper thought, only stopping himself short from voicing it out loud. He leaned back in his chair opposite the desk, his hand clawing into the arm rest and he allowed himself to express his frustration in a stream of curses in Latin and Sanskrit. When he sat back up again he noticed another agent was staring in through the window probably wondering whether he was speaking Martian. He stood up and made for the door giving enough of a pretence of leaving and locking up to convince the random agent to continue on his way before re-entering the office, turning off the lights and locking the door behind him so he wouldn't get anymore peeping toms. He didn't mind the dark.

He had the method down pat. The problem was still the motive. If he knew _that_ he could thwart the renegade agent's plan and buy himself some more thinking time. It would satisfy his own burning curiosity too.

A twist in Skipper's uncanny gut made him jump to his feet, gun pointed at a dark corner of the room. At first he thought it was just a run of the mill attack of paranoia and was about to return his weapon to his pocket when he heard the sound of footsteps and barely a second later the familiar silhouette slowly appeared out of the darkness.

"Sorry if I startled you, Skipper, it's become a bit of a habit," the warm Chicago accented voice spoke as genial as ever, "Took me weeks to work out how Kowalski did it, but you have no idea how many confessions I've gotten scaring the living daylights out of crooks by appearing out of the darkness behind them." Van Dorn was as cool and collected as ever in the same way as his tone was no different than when Skipper had seen him as a kind of possible mentor, "You're good, working out how I did it, but then you were trained by the best."

"It's no good if you plan to kill me," Skipper replied, recovering from his surprise though a new fear gripped him. Skipper knew if Van Dorn had been blindly angry at him he would have had a chance, but odds were if he'd been standing there the whole time saying nothing he already had a fool proof plan – maybe even one of Kowalski's – on how he was going to kill him, "Rockgut and the team know everything I know."

"Yeah, and you're pointing a gun at me," Van Dorn concurred with that kind of half joking tone that made him a good conversationalist. That had made Skipper believe his every word, "I wouldn't get too far."

"It's not loaded." Skipper countered.

"Why'd you tell me something I could use to my advantage?"

"You already knew. I'm guessing you picked my pocket while I was talking to Agent what's-his-name," Skipper replied. As of his unsuccessful fight with Kowalski he knew what a gun missing its clip felt like. Skipper knew he probably had one chance: he was going to have to try to take Van Dorn. He was in a locked room – Van Dorn had probably taken the key along with the clip – with no weapon and someone who obviously had a plan. Well, if Skipper had been playing the genius detective maybe his opponent wouldn't expect him to simply return to his favourite way of solving problems: full frontal assault.

"I know it looks bad, and I'm not going to deny any of what I did," The agent continued in that understanding tone that had made Skipper tell him a lot of things he wouldn't tell his oldest friend, "but would you just hear me out first?" Skipper eyed him cagily before replying:

"Alright. Talk." He replaced the gun in his pocket and returned to his seat as if he completely believed him.

"Didn't expect that." Van Dorn commented, casually advancing as Skipper figured he would. Skipper didn't think he'd walked into the room unarmed, and he was going to pull exactly the same trick on Van Dorn he'd pulled the last time he'd walked unarmed into a room with someone who wanted to kill him: he'd take Van Dorn's own weapon, or at least his clip.

"You're playing whatever remaining trust I've got left for you," Yeah, he was playing into Skipper's hands, "Let's hear your story." Skipper's hand was already clasped around the barrel of his useless gun intending to strike out with it as a club as soon as Van Dorn came into range – he could see the killer was carefully protecting his pocket.

Suddenly Van Dorn came into range and Skipper threw himself forward just as he heard a click and he was jerked right back, a sharp pain in his wrist. He looked around to see his right hand securely handcuffed to the heavy oak desk that wouldn't be going anywhere. He looked up at Van Dorn, desperation in his eyes.

"Sorry, Skipper," the older agent spoke with an odd kind of pity in his expression, rounding the chair on which his captive was seated with slow deliberation until he was stood directly behind skipper, "but it's about time you got some justice."

Van Dorn's hand moved from his side in a blur and Skipper's form went limp. Little trick he'd picked up from a friend in New Orleans.

**I think I've planted enough of Van Dorn's motive it can be worked out (I hope so, I try to make sure my plots can be solved). As 'Helga Bluestone' she's the Blue Hen. **


	15. Misguided

Rockgut had to admit, he had been a little harsh on the kid. Of course, he was admitting that to himself – certainly to no one else – and even there he wasn't telling himself the entire truth. Still, he figured he knew just where Skipper would still be and so started back up the elevator and back towards his office.

Upon reaching there he found the door locked and the lights out. Well, what else would he expect of the melodramatic son of the root of all the city's problems? Still, he unlocked the door and switched on the lights only to find that oddly enough it was empty. Skipper must have gotten bored and decided to mope at home. His gut said otherwise.

* * *

Skipper wasn't exactly sure what he expected when he woke up. He'd woken up to some pretty unexpected things before, especially after he was knocked out. If it had been K'walski he would have expected an office or an underground bunker but frankly he didn't know what to think of Van Dorn. In fact when he did see that his surroundings seemed to be a once lavish though faded living room he didn't think it that odd.

He tried to stand up but was prevented by two things: a throbbing headache and that same steel handcuff. He figured he could slip the 'cuffs in seconds if not for the headache.

"Please Johnny, can I just talk to him?" Skipper heard a muffled voice through the cieling plead. An English accented voice that was unmistakeably familiar. Well, chalk up another one to Van Dorn's growing list of crimes which were in hindsight annoyingly obvious. Who else could have kidnapped Timothy Jones?

"That would defeat the point of solitary confinement, wouldn't it," the rogue agent's voice replied and Skipper got a taste of what he sounded like when he was actually being hostile, "You can talk to him if you tell me what you saw first."

"But he didn't tell me anything!"

"Yup, just keep going on that one and I'll let you go crazy before I ever let you out." There was the sound of a door slamming and footsteps on the stairs. A few seconds later the door of the living room opened and Van Dorn entered, calmly drawing up an antique chair opposite Skipper, just out of attacking range, "I wanted to talk this over like gentlemen back at the office but you weren't gonna listen. Still I guess I owe you an apology for knocking you out."

"How about the guy locked upstairs?" Skipper replied cynically.

"He definitely owes you _more_ than one apology."

"I meant the other way around considering you're the one who's keeping him there."

Van Dorn frowned, crossing his legs and not bothering to keep his posture in check as if it were just a casual conversation at the dinner table.

"You know, I could explain all this now but it's better off in order," He spoke, "It's tough to understand any set of actions without motive."

"Wait a minute," Skipper interrupted, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, "Just where am I?"

"Come on, Skipper, you should recognise the place," Skipper looked around for any familiar marks. His eyes caught on a picture on the mantle place where a blonde's gentle blue eyes stared down at him with the innocent smile that identified Doris Blowhole, "It should look a little different since a lot of people have done some rearranging but it's the country place you used to go out to for shooting or boating or night operation lessons."

* * *

"_So do you mean the one on Long Island? 23 Golden Squirrel Lane? About half an hour's drive from New York where the approach from the road is extremely visible?"_ Kowalski heard skipper question and he smirked as he made a note of the address. Score one for the transmitter Skipper kept planted in the collar of his shirt.

"_The very place. A real trip down memory lane, I guess."_

"_This is the one where to __**approach unseen **__you have to crawl through the woods and enter via the passage next to the chimney? I get this place confused with the cottage in…" _the line went to static but Kowalski was satisfied he had the address.

"Well what are you guys standing around for?" Rockgut interrupted, blunt and to the point as ever, "Let's get over there."

* * *

Van Dorn's fingers left the small switch on the backpack sized device Skipper unfortunately recognised. The team wouldn't be hearing any more of their conversation if that jammer was on the correct frequency.

"Right, now you've sent them off on a wild goose chase I can start explaining," Van Dorn announced much to Skipper's ire. But the picture… "I put it there so you'd believe me. Anyway, where do you want me to start?"

"Beginning. Motive. Whatever you want." Skipper answered in the chopped sentences of one who doesn't like to be tricked.

"Ok, I guess the beginning would be when I started on the Knight case over ten years ago. Pretty interesting case to get assigned, but it seemed to me it was even more interesting than met the eye. I just got this odd feeling that two and two were coming out to four point five: I wanted to know why both Lola and Kowalski were fighting over you almost to the point of beyond reason – he spent a small fortune on lawyers and pay offs –, why Rico finished your father off after seemingly going to leave or at least finish his drink and why Kowalski kept Lola on such a tight leash."

"Kowalski kept Lola on a tight leash because he could, Rico finished my father off for the same reason and somehow Kowalski thought he was doing me a strange version of kindness by keeping me."

"I don't think you're right on any of those counts," Van Dorn contradicted, "In 1962 Kowalski had yet to go compleatly off the deep end so he didn't just do stuff 'because he could' he considered it a waste of his time. Also if you remember the McSlade murder, Rico wanted to just let McSlade die of his wounds; it was Kowalski who finished him off. If Rico didn't care about a person he'd leave them to suffer. Barry on the other hand, who he did like, was shot clean through the heart."

"Because he was trying to impersonate Kowalski."

"You've got a hundred answers for anything," Van Dorn sighed like a teacher dealing with a particularly troublesome student but stopped short of being arrogant, "Anyway, so I did what anyone would expect and went down to Maurice at the Copacabana and came up with a few interesting points which I'll explain later: Lola was the first person to see the body followed a few seconds later by you, Kowalski made frequent visits to the Copacabana before the murder, and the fact he kept you so guarded all the time, even after Blowhole was dead and he had no competition. Right, so that's where I started, here's what I found out:

"Lola's a smart cookie. She sees Skipper with a knife that belonged to her boyfriend, the two look like identical twins, and they're both best friends with Kowalski. Don't tell me she didn't work it out. Now, if she made some kind of search on Tony Knight's past Kowalski would be the first person to know, which explains all those visits to make sure she kept quiet – he wasn't lying about his motive, he was only lying about what he wanted her to keep quiet about.

Lola, of course, would be pretty angry finding out what Tony was keeping from her and that kind of anger would be easy for a power hungry Kowalski to manipulate. The two probably thought up the plan together: Kowalski had Archie or Barry or whoever call Rico to say that Tony Knight's a spy and that his ban on going to the Copacabana was temporarily revoked to bring the guy in for questioning. Rico, predictably, would decide he could make another attempt at Lola while he could, which would naturally make Skipper – what do you prefer, Skipper or Tony?"

"I consider myself a Knight." Skipper replied firmly.

"Thanks. Now that would predictably get Tony up in arms against him, and Tony can't tell Rico who he is if things turn bad because Lola's there. So the two fight it out and Rico shoots him, most importantly, in the shoulder, just nicking a lung. He wouldn't die of that, not before an ambulance got there, and those Penguins didn't miss. Rico didn't want him dead – he only had to wound him to keep his reputation. So who's the first person on the scene? Lola.

"Kowalski's always got a contingency as I've found out from reading his files. I stole them hoping he'd documented the Knight murder, but from the files you'd guess the whole fight hadn't happened. So the day before Lola pockets Tony's knife and when she realizes Rico hasn't killed him she finishes the job herself. A knife wound wouldn't show up in Rockgut's investigation so we'll never know for sure especially as Kowalski would have covered it up. Rico, I learned from conversations with him, at the time finished Tony off because he knew he was going to die and he was impressed since Tony was the only person to almost beat him other than Skipper. When I asked him about Lola he went silent.

"So on comes little Will Knight who sees his mother holding the bloody knife while Rico's gun is still smoking from the second shot. Rico leaves and the police rush in before Lola even has time to think what to do with her junior material witness and you two are separated. Do you remember who comforted you after you witnessed the murder? Captain Timothy Jones. If you had said anything to anybody it would have been to him, but because he's got a chronic case of post mortem devotion to Kowalski he's gone into denial."

"So you kidnapped him to get him to talk?"

"Yeah, no brainer that one. I thought it was funny though how much Rockgut overcomplicated the matter with Tony coming back from the dead. Well if he had his first stop wouldn't be his Private it would probably be the woman who murdered him.

"So we were at the part right after the murder. Lola gets summoned by Kowalski since any two conspirators in a murder would want to converse after the crime. Undoubtedly he'd heard what you saw and knows Lola wants to shut you up which was what she told him. He suggests that they be a bit more subtle and slowly convince you to belive his story just like he convinced you Lola wasn't your mother. Unlike Kowalski, Lola knew she actually could be convicted of murder and wanted to go for the tried, true and permanent option.

"Lucky for you Kowalski took a liking to you and had you taken away from Lola. When she fought him tooth and nail in the courts he'd had to fight back. She even went so far as to kidnap you and if you don't understand the risk of trying to pull something like that on Kowalski it's pretty dangerous. My problem, even knowing all of this as I glanced at your case every couple of months – I keep looking back at all my cold cases, call it my sense of justice – is that none of it can be proven in front of a jury, so my little crime spree was all started by me trying to get evidence."

"But both Kowalski and Rico are dead?" Skipper questioned his expression giving no indication of just what he was thinking.

"I was thinking of just letting the case go since they're both dead, but Lola's not. She thinks she's gotten off for twenty years. The whole thing was so expertly planned that even in death you still believed Kowalski and she probably assumes the same will apply to her. That's what I can't sit by and let happen."

Skipper frowned, taking in what had just been told to him. There were few times he was caught without an argument and this was one of them. Van Dorn seemed to sense this and let him think without interruption.

"I'm not quite sure how to tell you this," Skipper started, and he really wasn't, "But you're wrong."

"I am?" Van Dorn replied with mild surprise, though his eyes moved in that upward glance that suggests he might have expected such a reaction and the half smile that more than implied he felt he was humouring Skipper by allowing him to continue.

"You met all of them, all of them except my father." He stated.

"That applies to you as well."

"But I've heard about him."

"From Kowalski and Lola?" Van Dorn countered. Jim knew he should be making more of a deal out of this as he usually would but he was struck by just how genuine Van Dorn's efforts had been. If he'd started out on his mother's case from Van Dorn's perspective he might very well have found their positions reversed.

"There are few people I trust and I've got a good reason for that – one of those people was you," Well, that came out wrong, but Van Dorn seemed to understand what he meant and took no offence, "Another one's Tim Jones. He actually struggles to lie and he said my father and K'walski were like brothers. K'walski's entire life was about lying but I think when he told me what happened he was telling the truth."

"If I'm wrong I wanna hear it," Johnny Van Dorn prompted with blatant honesty but devoted intensity, "But I'll expect the same the other way around. It's just me and you, Skipper, there's no need to keep up false pride."

"There's no evidence, nothing I can prove you wrong on without an investigation just like you can't prove your point," Skipper replied, slowly getting back on his metaphorical feet. The shock had left him quiet, reserved and desperate not to offend – he was pretty sure the English accent had started to creep back in as well – but he was certain of what he knew, and he didn't even need to repeat it to himself to believe it, "But I know these people in ways you don't. And there's a lot to be said about that."

"But how do you know you weren't manipulated? How do you know you really know them?" Johnny questioned. Skipper fished around for an answer but the concept he held deep in his heart for years he couldn't quite translate into words, "Listen," Van Dorn stood up, "Think on it. But I want you to remember when you start psyching yourself up about trust in the few allies you have how Tim tried to sell you under the impression Kowalski intended to kill you in a not too pleasant way…"

"It was for the greater good…"

"…And then I want you to look in that file."

And like he'd entered Van Dorn left, the stairs creaking under his feet. He could hear a door open upstairs and the conversation start up again between the isolated Tim Jones and his captor. Skipper looked around. He was held to the furniture with a single pair of handcuffs and could escape easily, something Van Dorn evidently knew since he'd left the file in question on the table out of his current reach. Van Dorn was wrong and Skipper knew that but the desperate agent wouldn't give up any more than Skipper would. That was when it hit him as the sounds of Jones' half crazed cries continued to run as background noise to his thoughts. It was a hostage situation. How else could someone hold him without a bunker buried under eighty stories of skyscraper? If he ran, Jones was going to get it.

Oddly enough his train of thought wondered to that folder rested on the table on the other half of the room. It seemed to draw his curiosity towards it like a magnet. Well, he wasn't going anywhere anyway until he could work out a way to take Jones with him. He could imagine his once superior was probably half starved and most likely poorly treated which would make things harder.

He opened the folder and his other hand clenched into a fist:

"Possible candidates for 'Kowalski' in order of similarity of psychological profiles:

John Doe, known as Galileo Newton

Lieutenant Jaime Trillian

Special Agent John Van Dorn

Sergeant Eugene Grayson…"

And the list went on, but soon enough the document described just what these candidates were in for.

"…Approval has been given to recreate a similar accident to the one in Denmark in 1943 with the goal of replicating the bond between Captain Grant and Lieutenant Kowalski with William Grant and the candidate… Arrangements have been made for Agent Newton to be transferred to field duty and the necessary modifications have been made to the tank… in the scenario in which Grant is unsuccessful in saving Agent Newton the second candidate will be attempted after two to three months to prevent suspicion…"

The signature of Captain Timothy Jones graced the bottom of the page which was all Skipper needed to know. So Kowalski's accident had been a set-up, another part of the plan everyone seemed to have to turn him into a copy of the original Skipper. What he couldn't believe was how calmly the document assumed the high probability of the situation in which he hadn't pulled Kowalski clear in time. And what about the rest of the crew? Good men thrown away for the sake of recreating a violent if effective killer.

Skipper was enraged as he had a right to be which was probably why the thought crept into his head: he could leave Jones behind and save himself. It's not like the 'naive and innocent' ex-Private would do any more for him. In fact, the logic held so strongly that his hand was already on the door handle. That was when he stopped. Ironically he was probably about to become a victim of Van Dorn's affliction of not quite knowing the whole story before signing away lives. Maybe it was like when Jones had made the deal with K'walski. In Rockgut's eyes he'd tried to take the easy way out and sell one of his men when in reality he was just putting the city before one agent who he knew would gladly consent to the deal. Skipper wouldn't know what Jones had really meant in that file if he assumed him guilty and left him behind.

* * *

It was cute, Johnny thought, the way the kid could rationalize. It was funny the effect he had on the kid – who knew Skipper Jr. could slow down and think rationally instead of just jumping to conclusions? Johnny could see the battle was lost. Sure, he could keep Skipper there. He could wait for his friends to eventually catch up with them and he'd shoot it out just like Kowalski had. He didn't like the idea of that.

As he drove away from the house he could imagine the tears of joy in the misguided ex-Director's eyes as he was rescued. He could probably predict the emotional confrontation that was going to occur when Skipper brought up Operation: Kowalski. Actually, he didn't need to guess, he could watch. After all, the Department had no idea just how vast Kowalski's electronic surveillance network was, a network he had control of.

He'd lay low since that was the only thing he could do and watch as the bits of his contingency plan fell into place. Johnny had doubted from the start Skipper would be able to knock himself out of the combination of denial and Kowalski's programming long enough to allow himself to believe what Johnny had shown him. He'd let Lola rest on her laurels as she comforted her son though crocodile tears and denied all of Johnny's accusations. Both Skippers were going to get justice whether the more recent one thanked him at the time or not.


	16. K'walski Would Be So Proud

_This is Chuck Charles reporting live from the famous Copacabana nightclub where only minutes ago the star of the 1950s Lola Knight was arrested for the murders of Kowalski and Rico, the last Penguins, over half a year ago… The discovery of a bribe paid to one of the guards at The Aquarium Penitentiary sparked an investigation that led to the discovery of further pay offs which procured the two murder weapons… Lola Knight claims to have been at home during the murder however the witnesses she cited to confirm her statement denied they had seen her enter her apartment…"_

"May I speak freely sir?" Skipper asked, switching of the television.

"Go ahead." Rockgut answered slicing an envelope open with the dagger he'd been using as a letter opener during his stint on office duty a little more violently than was called for.

"Do you hate my relatives as well as me?" Skipper grumbled to his superior then continued, "First you arrest the old director and get him tossed out, and now you've got mom only this time you've got her up for murder."

"I wouldn't arrest anyone for those killings," his superior answered in much the same tone as Skipper, "But some idiot leaked it to the media and I'd get the boot if I started deciding who gets prosecuted for what based on my own moral opinions."

"But what about the public?" Skipper questioned, "I'm pretty sure everyone would be happy to pretend none of this ever happened."

"Except for the huge percentage of powerful people with connections to dad. They lost a lot of money when Lola supposedly killed those two."

"Politics." Skipper scoffed, standing to leave. Rockgut rolled his eyes in agreement.

"When this is over I'm back in the field."

Skipper didn't understand it. He'd spoken to Lola and she was obviously trying to protect someone. Her stubborn silence, the way she'd kept all but confessing to the crime though consistently got the details wrong said as much. The case was already pretty bad: she had means motive and opportunity in spades as well as half a dozen witnesses who'd suddenly decided to speak up against her. But in the same way he couldn't believe she'd murdered her husband he didn't believe she'd killed Kowalski and Rico. Still, he had to know who she was protecting if he had any chance of clearing her. Now the case had been brought up somebody was going to have to hang for it.

* * *

The atmosphere of the empty archives Private had always found warm, cosy and welcoming, like a library. Someone had gone to a fair bit of trouble to make it that way with the worn wooden tables and shelves that contained a good read or two as well as the alphabetically organised cases. It was here he'd decided to wait having hoped the atmosphere would help him keep together though every second his uncle was late the pain seemed to double. It was a little known fact that while he referred to Nigel as 'Uncle Nigel' he was actually his great uncle but it was Timothy Jones who was his mother's brother. That was an irrelevant distraction, though, as Kowalski would say. He glanced at his watch.

"Sorry, Private," the ex-commissioner and director apologised as he walked up to the table Private inhabited, "Rockgut made me go through a whole battery of examinations. He seems to think this 'Red Squirrel' has something to do with my abduction and so expects mind control. I'm clean, by the way." It was only then after he had seated himself before the paperwork he'd intended to do at the same time (also provided by Rockgut) that he noticed Private's grim demeanour. He let his pen settle on the desk, frowning, "So… what exactly did you want to see me about?"

"I want to confess to a murder – murders." Private spoke, "At least, I think. If it's not, it's two attempted murders."

"You aren't sure if the victims are dead?" Jones questioned, not taking the statement entirely seriously. It was just too ridiculous, even for Mr Tux's relaxed morals.

"No, they're dead. I'm just not sure if _I_ killed them." On Jones' prompt the words gushed from his mouth and Private repeated the whole story of how he'd woken up in the HQ with no recollection of the more recent half of the week, the week in which Kowalski and Rico had been killed. A few months ago he'd started to have dreams about Archie telling him how to commit a murder and two men in a hospital room and how he'd practically have a panic attack if he saw certain things. Then over the last couple of weeks they'd started to form into solid, coherent memories. He explained the whole murder to Jones, how he'd set up all the alibis and how he'd just wondered the city afterwards until he'd walked into the Copacabana, "I can't remember if I did it." Private explained, "But that's not the point. The point is I went through all that intending to kill another human in cold blood and was tempted to kill two."

"Well, I think many of us would argue that Rico, and possibly Kowalski, were exceptions…"

"But they're still trying Lola for what was probably me!" Private protested finally getting to what had forced him to speak up.

"Well if you think I'm going to let you confess you've got another thing coming," Jones countered firmly, "I'd sooner confess myself."

"But it's not right!"

"Lola is protecting _you_." Jones argued, "Which by extension would mean that even if it costs her life she wants you kept in the clear. Now going and confessing would do exactly what she doesn't want so you're not helping her. Do you understand?" Private nodded sullenly. It was poorly put as were all words said in extreme emotion but he understood what Jones was saying. Lola was _choosing_ to sacrifice herself so he wouldn't be brought in. Still, it was hard to resign himself to helplessness though he knew the rest of the team and Rockgut were doing their best to exonerate her. Jones allowed the conversation to lapse into silence.

"How do you do it?" Private suddenly asked with a peculiar expression on his face.

"Sorry?" Jones questioned.

"You've had to do things almost as bad as K'walski trying to bring him in yet..." Private paused, searching for the word, "I don't know how to put this, but you're still like me. How do you live with the memories?"

"We'll I'm not naïve anymore even if I do a good job of looking like it, if that's what you mean." Jones answered, "I haven't been naïve since my team turned on me. But I've always remembered to keep a special place in my heart where I look for the good in people. I even saw good in the Penguins."

"I still see good in you even after what you did to Skippah," Private could see Jones almost wince at being reminded of the conversation that he and Skipper were avoiding each other in the hallways because of, "and Kowalski. But how do you live with the lives you had to take?"

"Well, for one thing it was war..." Jones answered, but Private seemed to mean events years after that. Events where he'd had a choice, "It's fifty fifty whether you killed them or not, so you should take pride in the fact you might have stopped yourself and someone else killed them later. If you want we can try to find out..."

"No. I don't care who pulled the trigger." Private interrupted with certainty.

"And secondly, even if you did, did you honestly believed with all your heart you were doing the right thing?"

"Well..."

"Of course you did, otherwise you'd never had done it," Jones finished for him and Private gave him a kind of half nod to indicate understanding as the boy's fingers twisted themselves into knots.

"In hindsight there might have been facets of Rico that were good that I never and we could certainly use the old K'walski around now." Private reasoned.

"But you didn't have hindsight then when you agreed to carry out a dying man's last wish."

"I guess..." Private began to counter, considering pointing out that at the time he'd had some doubts as to just how critical Kowalski's condition really was, but he'd seen the vicious slashes in the man's side and despite the rumours of Kowalski being conscious that memory had kept him convinced he really was dying.

"That's how you do it, Private," Jones summarized, "Don't think about the 'what ifs'. You did or you didn't and if you always act with the best intentions you should never feel guilt for those actions no matter how things turn out," Finally Private's eyes finally met his predecessor's after being glued to the table for a majority of the conversation, "Anyway it's not like you can bring them back and apologize."

"Don't give Mr Tux ideas." Private laughed, weak, brittle and almost a kind of half sob, but a laugh none the less.

* * *

"It's gotta be Van Dorn framing her, Skipper!" Kowalski argued, waving his pencil in annoyance. At least he'd put the clipboard down, Rico had almost torn him limb from limb when Kowalski had accidentally hit him in the face with it, "Lola was protecting Private and he isn't guilty, he just thinks he is!"

"Of course it's Van Dorn, we've gotten past that already!" skipper snapped in reply. Tempers were all running high amongst the Penguins, save for Private who was still sitting quietly at the back of the room with his eyes on the carpet as Jones had until it had just gotten too awkward between him and Skipper. Ironically enough, Kowalski hadn't blamed the ex-director at all after reviewing the numbers and agreeing that the risk of his life had been worth it to help to allow Skipper to reach his full potential.

"Bu' how 'e catch 'im?" Rico questioned, realizing that Skipper and Kowalski weren't going to make it to that stage on their own. Skipper's eyes drifted uncomfortably to the corner of the room.

"Well?" Kowalski prompted impatiently.

"He could be just about anywhere, maybe even back in Chicago," Skipper spoke after an uncharacteristically extended breath. He perched himself on the corner of his desk, making it clear by the way he almost slouched and quickly corrected himself that what he had to say wasn't going to be easy, "We don't have the man power with Hans running around Denmark to cover all those bases. Only Van Dorn has whatever scrap of evidence can exonerate Lola because he set her up."

"We know that," Kowalski protested, "get to the point!"

"I just wanna make our position clear," Skipper replied standing up to face the team. He looked each one of them in the eye, reading their expressions in depth before continuing: "I'm bringing back the Penguins."

The room exploded into protests of all types and there several pleas on Kowalski's part that Skipper was joking. He was completely serious.

"Believe me, I don't want to do this." He spoke, "but time is running out on mom and when it comes to Johnny Van Dorn you can't go half measures. I've talked this over with Marlene and she agrees."

"Skippah, it's too dangerous," Private protested, "And if you try to do that then I'm going to confess!"

"Then Van Dorn will frame her for something else and you can both be tried for murder." Skipper countered, "He's got himself convinced Lola is guilty and that it's up to him to make sure she faces the law."

"What makes you think you're so much better than your father?" Kowalski asked sceptically, "What makes you think you're gonna come out of this in one piece?"

"A good part of what destroyed the Penguins was loss. Kowalski, you're still going steady with that Doris girl?"

"Yeah." The scientist replied grudgingly.

"We're all over Manfredi and Johnson?" the room murmured in the affirmative, "And is Marlene going to turn around and say she was only playing me for my money? She's already tried that and demonstrated she can't." He could see the team starting to waver in their positions, but they weren't quite sold.

"Still…"

"I was born and trained to control the Penguins," Skipper continued, "I've stood at the top of Consolidated Amalgamated with a gun in my hand and half a dozen men who'd die for me at my back and I didn't feel a thing. That was when I was eight." Skipper saw cautious signs of agreement, "I can stand in that office again and I can have those same men behind me and it'll just be another take your kid to work day."

* * *

Johnny Van Dorn fiddled with the signal strength a bit and the quality of the feed returned to normal. It was amazing Kowalski's electronic surveillance network. He'd certainly been busy when he was 'dead' since the whole thing was no more than ten years old and in perfect working order when he'd switched it on again. He'd had cameras everywhere from the HQ where they'd been planted perhaps unknowingly by Marlene to the entire interior of Rockgut's fortress. And that wasn't including the older set of monitors that tapped into the security cameras of wherever Kowalski might have wanted to have a 24 hour feed: banks, police headquarters, Consolidated Amalgamated, the diamond exchange etc.

He could see what Skipper was trying to do. Marlene must have known about Kowalski's network and probably told him. Skipper thus knew he was being watched and so this whole dramatic 'I'm starting the Penguins again' was just to lure him out of hiding. Skipper was assuming that as soon as he saw in danger of going the way of his father he'd come running back, confess, and sit still for the sentence. Skipper wouldn't endanger his team which meant he wasn't really going to restart the Penguins or he had fail safes in place to prevent the power getting to his head. All he had to do was sit back and call Skipper's bluff. Skipper couldn't keep up the act constantly forever.

* * *

**A month and a half later**

The view from his father's office at the top of Consolidated Amalgamated was empowering. The whole city was stretched out before him, cars and people so small he could almost reach down and hold one in the palm of his hand. Like Zeus on Mount Olympus, the power of life and death on all those people below at his very whim. That must have been what his father had felt standing at that same floor to ceiling window.

The building was certainly not restored to its original glory though work was well on the way. He'd felt it a bit of a public duty to have the city's landmark repaired and felt it was a good idea to relocate his office there to both save the Department space and so that he would be on hand if any problems were encountered in the renovations. He'd found the deactivation codes cleverly hidden in his childhood notes and the building was now entirely safe. He'd had the passage way in Kowalski's office bricked up to so there was now only one secret way in and out of the building that went straight to his office. Nobody got in or out without his say so.

They'd had to pull a few jobs to finance the restarting of the Penguins but they were all against people who could afford to lose the money and nobody had gotten hurt. There was certainly a thrill to pulling off the jobs too and he could see Kowalski certainly enjoyed the intellectual challenge of outsmarting, well, everybody. He wasn't quite sure how Kowalski had brought him back the empire intact almost immediately. He'd heard rumours that Blowhole had been controlling the Penguins after he'd relinquished the role but pretended he hadn't heard them and stuck to Kowalski's explanation that he had still been in the process of taking inventory of the assets to be sold off.

"Hey boss?" Archie poked his head into the office. Skipper turned around to see the older man grinning nostalgically, "Can I just say, it's great to have a Skipper back in this office."

"Thanks, but that's not what you're here for." Skipper replied.

"Yeah, Kowalski said to say they're all ready." Skipper thanked him and grabbed his gun and holster from the desk trying to hide his almost crazed anticipatory grin and the fact his heart had doubled it's pace. There certainly was a thrill to this.


	17. A Good Old Fashioned Train Heist

Van Dorn could see Skipper seated on one of the stools in K'walski's lab along with the rest of the team, Kowalski just concluding his demonstration. The scientist had certainly done a good job of pretending to fall for the allure of material goods with his look of pure joy at seeing the fully stocked lab, but not good enough in Van Dorn's opinion. He had just seemed too over the moon to see the first Kowalski's plans to build a particle accelerator in the basement.

"Where does all this gold come from?" Skipper scoffed, reviewing the number Kowalski had quite prominently placed on the blackboard, "I mean, we take it and then more just turns up?"

"Well, there are gold mines as well as multiple major gold reserves whose contents alone would probably finance us for 23.4 million years…" Kowalski immediately began to spout back though Skipper silenced him with a scowl, "It was rhetorical, wasn't it." He apologised glumly.

"Anyway, you say that the metal pallet things will be able to let it just roll down stream?" Skipper questioned, becoming more serious, "Gold is heavy, and so are trains."

"Absolutely," Kowalski replied, "I've done the calculations myself..."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"...same with the speed of the train. I should be able to change tracks at that speed, and if not, jump clear before it derails."

"And whose body am I going to be borrowing for this first part?" Kowalski grinned at the mention of being allowed to use one of his crazy inventions for practical purposes.

"A guard named Peter Smith, born..." Skipper interrupted him with a 'entire backstory not necessary' look, "He's in the next room, I can start the process whenever you want."

"This won't hurt him, will it?" A small voice from the back of the room asked and for the first time all morning Private had said something more than a greeting. He was unusually, well not for the last few weeks, pale and seemed almost skin and bone, barely meeting the muscular requirement for field work. His eyes hadn't left his fidgeting hands since the beginning of the briefing.

"Oh, lay off it Private, you didn't kill them!" skipper replied with an exasperated tone that hinted at just how long Private had been like this, "He's not gonna be hurt, Rockgut's probably made him sign half a dozen permission slips and read him his rights, he knows what he's getting in to."

"Wait, he was a volunteer…?" Kowalski began to cut in with a mystified expression but silenced himself before Skipper could, "Ah yes, we just had to pretend to take him forcibly in order to maintain to Van Dorn that we're quite evil." Crude, trying to pretend that they didn't know he was watching.

"It's all safe, Private, I'm going through the same machine too," Skipper reassured and the youngest member of the group went back to his moody silence.

* * *

"Cupid, you're bleeding me dry." Van Dorn grumbled at his lookalike's ex-girlfriend. The woman just shrugged.

"You got any other way of finding out what happens on that gold heist?" She replied, tossing her head dramatically to move a miniscule strand of hair. The second 'Skipper' replied that he had many ways of getting the same data so she wouldn't get any ideas as to the true value of her information but still reluctantly shelled out the cash, "That's better." She smiled greedily, counting the bills and placing them in her purse.

"If you're the getaway driver how will you know what happens during the heist without asking Skipper?" Van Dorn questioned sceptically, a question he should have asked before handing her the money. He still didn't trust Skipper wasn't faking the whole thing to smoke him out. He'd probably purchased the gold from the Rat King or had asked his permission to steal it, after all the man had been and still probably was obsessed with Lola.

"Private's been keeping detailed real-time – for accuracy he says – accounts of their exploits, claiming to Skipper that he's keeping notes on possible traitors. I think it's more likely he's planning to give it to Rockgut," Cupid replied, sliding off the desk and gliding towards the door. Lola could pull off the whole mystery woman act, but Cupid couldn't. She wanted to seem tough but the hardest thing she'd ever done was break up with Skipper, "He keeps it in his pocket, though."

"After the heist, steal it," Van Dorn ordered, glad to get the woman out of there so he could torch the building and any evidence of his being there. If she was actually working for Skipper now would be about the time her ex would be arriving, "I'll contact you to tell where you can give it to me."

* * *

**Skipper's Log, tape 62 (duplicate)**

"Hey Pete!" one of a group of uniformed guards seated around a poker game (where two of them were cheating badly) called in greeting. 'Peter Smith' grinned in recognition but almost immediately broke into a coughing fit that got me out of answering, since I didn't know the guy's name. Works every time, "Want me to deal you in?"

"Nah, I got last minute checks to do." I – or Smith – answered getting myself excused. I kept on walking through that deactivated trap covered warehouse the Rat King likes to call a 'strong hold'. They didn't even ask me for ID or check my fingerprints, and what's the point of having traps if they're deactivated? I probably didn't even need Smith. Still, the Rat King thought it was safe enough to store the well laundered versions of the gold bars he'd stolen from Consolidated Amalgamated during the so called 'battle'.

I got to the door and took out the keys I'd slipped out of somebody's pocket and unlocked the door. It swung open by the force of Rico's hand on the other side and the rest of the team – all dressed like guards like me – entered the 'Skipper', or at least my body, looking like he'd woken up to find himself on Mars.

"Ca' we switch 'oo back now?" Rico asked grumpily. It was pretty obvious he'd had enough of Smith and his questions about whether he was dreaming or not. I said yes, and went through the mind switching process which feels worse than being stuck in a car that's doing cartwheels on a dirt track (I've done it). Process complete, and my dinner still where it oughta be, I let Rico knock him out.

"Right, train leaves in fifteen minutes." I told them and we left Smith in a closet and made for the train tracks. I'm wondering how long they're gonna give the guard for 'aiding and abetting' at least until Rockgut hears Kowalski's got his mind switching thing working and puts two and two together. Nah, Rockgut wouldn't work that out.

Nobody looked at us twice as we got on the train with the tardy half of the guards and we started walkin' through the normal box cars towards the one in the middle that Kowalski says is 72% steel 28% iron or something like that. That was where they were keeping the gold. As we entered, Rico put a small explosive on the floor between the two carriages. It was no bigger than a bit of thrown away gum, but it was enough to blast through the floor and break the coupling between the gold carriage and everything behind it.

* * *

**Private's Notes on the Unsanctioned Activities of the Penguins (badly water damaged and partially reconstructed)**

"If anything happens to one single ingot, literally _or_ metaphorically, all of you can say hello to a full body cast for six months." The Rat King threatened. I could have sworn I saw Skipper pause as he undoubtedly realized that the Rat King certainly seen his picture in the criminal's romantically motivated surveillance of Lola Knight, but the train was now in motion and there was little that could be done. Kowalski glanced at Skipper questioningly and Skipper nodded. The three of them drew their weapons and tentatively I joined them after a rather painful slap from Skipper, though I didn't dare touch the safety. Perhaps that was how I killed them, I might have fired the gun by accident… but it would still be my fault, "And after you've healed, I'll do it all again. I'm gonna count and I'm gonna weigh every last bar of gold so…" the Rat King continued oblivious of Skipper.

"Everyone toss the guns outa the car," skipper ordered stepping forward and getting everyone's attention, the shotgun that was part of the guard disguise resting in his hands as if it belonged there all the while trained on the Rat King's heart. The rest of the team picked random targets amongst the guards. Most of them complied automatically, opening the door of the boxcar and tossing rifles and side arms out of the car like they were red hot. Others took a little more of what skipper called 'encouragement'. Suffice to say, when he was done with the more disagreeable ones there were only eight left including the Rat King.

"And here I was leaving you alone because I thought you were tryin' to help Lola." The Rat King growled, holding fast to his revolver, "Back out now, and I won't knock your skulls through the floor." Skipper gave him a droll smile in return, making no motion to surrender. I almost wish he would in spite of what it would mean for us. Somehow I don't feel right about this whole robbery business. It's too easy for someone to get hurt.

"You know, I'd really drop that gun." Skipper replied in that nearing on overconfident tone he keeps. He always looks as if he's posing for publicity photographs these days. Not that I'm insinuating anything, but perhaps the power might be having a slight influence on his actions, "I mean, if I don't give a damn about mom, why do you think I'd let you keep breathing if you keep annoying me?" A murderous glance from Rico sealed the deal in the Rat King's mind and the weapon was tossed out into the continuous blur of earthy browns and greens next to the train.

"Rico, I'll need that other explosive," Kowalski requested now the guards were taken care of. Rico obliged, looking reluctantly up from the glittering bars of gold in the centre of the metal box car. As per the plan, Kowalski left the car by the opposite door planting the explosive on the floor much like Rico had on the other side of the carriage and continued on towards the front of the train.

* * *

**Conversation between G. Newton AKA Kowalski and H. Bluestone**

"…Still in this _hypothetical_ situation," Kowalski recounted, "nobody so much as looked at me despite the noticeable quantity of guards spaced evenly about the train. Even when Rico blew the connection between the gold car and all those incompetent fools did was look curiously at me. The chubby, oil splattered engineer jumped off the train of his own volition which saved me 3.465 seconds not having to deal with him.

"I took a look at the instruments, knowing each and every one from a thirty minute lesson with Fra… a contact then I started to increase the speed. Rico had attempted to persuade me with up to three quarters of his yearly salary to increase immediately to maximum speed but it would mess up the delicate calculations necessary for the following stage: I had to bring the box car up to exactly 11.435 mph faster than the box car would need to be traveling at to derail over the bridge which was now about six miles away.

"I passed what Private would have called rather quaint New England station, though it was little more than a blur. If one of the guards hadn't put two and two together, they'd have the cops on us in between 30 and 33 minutes. It didn't exactly matter, at least, it wouldn't have if everything had gone to plan."

"But how is this related to what happened to Private…?" Helga began to ask.

"I'm getting to that. That station was also my cue. I fished out the detonator and hit the button. I was actually able to hear a kind of muffled version of the sound of the explosion – that one separated the box car from everything in front of it. I then increased to 97.334% of the maximum speed and took on the high speed points – I'd tested them quite thoroughly and made my own modifications beforehand so I wouldn't derail. Immediately Archie switched them back and while I diverted onto a parallel track the box car continued on towards the bridge. It's funny, you know, how now that life and death seems to depend on them, not just my own personal amusement, success rates with my inventions have increased dramatically as the stupid mistakes like forgetting to carry the two have decreased.

"I've always wanted to drive a train!" Alex Lionel had the audacity to inform me as he leapt out of the car and started climbing onto the stationary locomotive like it was Christmas and he was eight.

"You won't be." I told him heading for the passenger's seat he'd vacated, "It's on autopilot, just hit the switch and hopefully you'll beat the 1600 express to Grand Central."

"You didn't have to burst my bubble." He sulked looking like a stereotypical theatrical. I didn't really pay any attention to what he said next since it was entirely irrelevant. Shutting the door of the car and reminding Archie of how the statistics favour seatbelts and so should use he them was more intellectually stimulating.

""Hopefully we won't be late."" My predecessor's poor excuse for a lieutenant commented as he remembered where the parking break was, "I wanna see the car go off the bridge.""


	18. Tragedy Made The Penguins

**Private's Notes on the Unsanctioned Activities of the Penguins**

I glanced guiltily over my shoulder at where Skipper and Rico were standing at the opposite end of the box car conversing about the merits of various monster trucks. It was as clear to the guards as it was to me Skipper had never had any intention of doing anything for them. Skipper had told me someone was going to drive up alongside the train and that we were going to jump into that before the boxcar got onto the bridge but when I asked about the guards and Rat King all he did was change the subject.

I suppose it's up to me then. As I write this, I'm carefully slipping a pen knife out of my pocket and quietly dropping it into one of the guard's bound hands. When he caught hold of the item the thankful smile he gave me was enough that it probably once would have melted even Skipper's heart. Once. I wasn't giving them much with that pen knife as we were going so fast their chances were slim when it came to jumping, but it was better than letting them go off a bridge with the gold and the rest of the box car. Better than me having to swim past their drowned bodies when Skipper makes us recover the gold.

The long scribble you see is where I embarrassingly almost jumped out of my skin at a double blast of a car's horn. Skipper glanced at me and my greyish pallor and undoubtedly guessed the connection my mind had made with two other loud sounds in my relatively recent memory. He shook his head disapprovingly with a sigh but I couldn't quite make out what he said.

"Hurry it up Private!" A woman's voice called and I saw Skipper grimace at his old nickname and probably at the driver's identity. I hate to speak ill of anyone but it is all too clear why Cupid would attempt to rekindle her relationship with Skipper who is starting, so I am told, to amass a decent fortune as head of the Penguins. Nonetheless, he approached the open door of the box car and after a second's deliberation recklessly jumped for the convertible, landing in a heap on the back seat. Rico didn't even take the half second before jumping.

I glanced back regretfully at the guards, all in a heap trying to get the knife next. I really have no choice but to leave them and hope for the best. I probably ought to stop writing now but I'll finish this when I've next got some free time. Probably after the Lunicorns marathon this evening.

* * *

**Cupid's report**

"Private!" Skipper called. We were all pretty certain why Private was taking so long: it was that book of his and the fact he's still got it in his head he bumped off Kowalski and Rico, "You're already on the bridge, get out of there!" Private standing near the back of the box car, bit his lip and started to walk towards the door. Suddenly a meaty hand grabbed his wrist and his head twisted around in terror.

Private fought like a tiger against the Rat King (how the hell'd he get free?) and Rat King fought back just as hard. It wasn't the hand to hand combat chess matches that go on forever that most of the Penguin's fights are like. They were both kicking and grappling out of sheer animal terror with no rhyme or reason or were on the bridge now and both of them knew there was probably only time for one of them to get out – at least there was now they were fighting over it.

I could see the curve coming up where the car would leave the track but I could also see Private had gotten a hand on the door of the box car and was trying to pry himself free of Rat King. He seemed to be winning, amazingly!"

Suddenly he screamed and disappeared from the door way, thrown back into the car like a rag doll. Rat King landed on the tracks just behind the car as suddenly the whole box car left the track. My ears are still ringing from the sound of the tearing steel and snapping wood but I could hear the kid's scream somewhere in there as well and I could almost swear I saw his little hand grab at the air through the doorway as the car went over the edge of the bridge. A few seconds later landed it in the river below with a splash that sent decent sized waves crashing against both banks of the river.

"Gosh, poor kid." I muttered or something like that as I tore my eyes away from the sinking boxcar that was now the tomb of the sweetest kid to ever be corrupted by the Penguins and started to drive. Even Rico seemed kinda subdued, "Do you think there's any chance he made it?" I asked nobody in particular but the question was out to the floor. No answer, "Private?" I glanced back but my ex wasn't in the back seat where he'd landed. I looked at Rico who shrugged, though he seemed kinda worried. That was enough to make me grab the radio, "Kowalski?"

"Yeah?" He replied.

"Is Skipper with you?"

* * *

**Conversation between G. Newton AKA Kowalski and F. Blowhole Jr.**

"…I told her that I thought Skipper was with her." Kowalski sighed, his head in his hands showing sorrow he would only feel comfortable expressing in the security of his lab, "When I looked back in the rear view mirror I could see two shapes roughly fitting human proportions on the bridge. Further back I could see the cops rounding the hill about a mile behind that. I told her to take Rico and Archie back to the HQ and the car skidded to a stop.

""Leave Skipper…" Archie begged but I'd already pushed him out onto the road. Even Cupid flagged her little protest over the radio, I believe it was, almost verbatim:

""Are you crazy?!" - I hate it when they call me that…"

"Ditto." Blowhole concurred quietly.

""… Those cops are probably paid off by Rat King, you're not gonna make it to police headquarters!"

"I reminded her that my orders are not to be questioned and made a U turn, almost grazing Archie. About a minute later I lost my view of Skipper and the Rat King to the trees as well as the approaching police but a volley of gunshots told me Skipper was no longer alone on the bridge. I pulled over to the side of the empty road. Any closer and I'd be in the line of fire which wouldn't help skipper in the least. All I could do was wait with my foot over the accelerator and hope Skipper had the sense to run in this direction.

"There was a rustling in the bushes and Skipper appeared out of the woods his white shirt – he'd lost his blazer somewhere – stained with blood making him look like a ghost. I was already moving as he jumped onto the running board, latching onto the side of the car with his arm.

""Over there!" someone shouted and a bullet shot clean through the front and back windows narrowly missing my head. Less accurate shots followed as the cops stumbled out onto the road firing after me but I had a car and they were on foot so soon enough it'd lost them. I still travelled several miles after I was certain I wasn't being tailed before I slowed down enough to let Skipper climb into the car. He dropped into the passenger seat limply enough to have me worried and it was only then I saw the extent of the blood. His whole front was drenched in it…"

* * *

**Skipper's Log, tape 62**

"Anything life threatening?" Kowalski asked, keeping his eyes on the road looking out for patrol cars. I took the hint and grabbed Kowalski's coat from the back seat to cover my shirt.

"None of it's mine." I replied pretty dully. I guess I looked pretty terrible, not that losing the kid wasn't an excuse for that.

"Good. Leave any fingerprints when you decapitated Rat King?"

"Do you even care that Private's dead?" I snapped at him, but Kowalski didn't so much as take his eyes off the road.

"You know I do."

"You don't seem to." I countered, staring down at my blood-stained hands where the razor sharp fragment of metal from the torn track rested. I tossed it out the window after wiping it clean of Rat King's blood and my prints, "I just sent a boy to his death…" I whispered in a kind of half stupor, shivering violently. It was the just adrenalin, I swear, "There were other ways I could have done it… I should have let him jump first…" Kowalski didn't give me anything resembling sympathetic human emotion. I kinda blew it then, "Private's dead! The Rat King's dead and you don't even seem to…!"

"You just killed a man in front of the Connecticut police," Kowalski cut me off crisply, "If I can't get to those cops before they make their report and that report gets to Rockgut, we all might as well have gone with him!"

"I had to kill the Rat King." I defended myself, "If he'd lived he'd have gone after us hoping to get us before we got him. And anyway, Private deserved…"

"Private knew he was taking a risk when he joined this mission." Kowalski interrupted me.

"But I sent him…"

"And what can you do to possibly change that?" The cold lieutenant countered firmly, "Get real, skipper. Private died mostly because his head wasn't in the game. You messed up, but getting emotional is only going to make you do it again. Then who's gonna go out in a blaze of glory next? Rico? Marlene? Me?" I just glared at him.

"Would you have been this cold if I'd been the one in the box car?" I asked out of spite.

"Wouldn't you want me to be?"

* * *

"Kowalski put it pretty indelicately, but he's got the right idea," Marlene comforted holding her husband's hand a way he ordinarily would never let her, "It's not your fault Private didn't make it and Rat King turned up dead. If anything I'd blame those androids trying to restart the Penguins, they started the robbery and killed Rat King."

"I'm blaming Francis Alberta who built them." Skipper replied in his dismal mood, "We'll catch them too, though."

"I hope so," Marlene concurred softly, "I'd hoped all that Penguins stuff was behind us. I can't tell you how happy I was to see you give it all up."

So Skipper wasn't telling his wife about his little game, or maybe he had told her and this was staged to make him seem more like his father by keeping his wife ignorant of his darker. Van Dorn knew for a fact there were no androids running about.

He was interested in the whole box car accident though. According to his current surveillance they'd picked up the gold filled box car further down the river. He'd thought it an ingenious idea to drift the gold downstream so that if anybody else tried to salvage it from under the bridge they'd find nothing. Apparently the Penguins had also found Private's body inside but he couldn't seem to get any formal record or proof of it. The same applied to the Rat King who'd officially gone to the city morgue.

"Helga?" he inquired into the phone after dialling the number, "How's the new job at Consolidated Amalgamated?"

"Johnny?" he heard a scuffle of equipment and wires being shuffled. She was going to try to trace him, how adorable.

"I'm going to need some more information," he spoke wondering when she'd realize she'd never be able to trace him, another thing he had to thank the late Kowalski and his technology for, "I'm gonna need access to or detailed photographs of two bodies they pulled out of the river: first one was a Percival Nelson and the other one's a John Doe but they call him the Rat King."

"I don't even know why I'm having a conversation like this with you," he heard Helga Bluestone's voice drop to a nervous whisper, "What if Kowalski is listening to this call?!"

"Well then you've got nothing to lose then because he's already heard you," Van Dorn replied, "Let's say, ten thousand each for the corpses? You've got access to them, right?"

"Look, I'm not doing anything to cross the Penguins."

"You're afraid of them? You do know they're only faking all this to get me to clear Lola."

"No they aren't," Helga replied with a tremor in her voice, "Maybe they were but they aren't faking now. You didn't see what Skipper did to the Rat King. And there was this other guy that went missing..."

"I can do some pretty ugly things myself if that's what you're afraid of." Van Dorn replied in a kind of casual tone that he'd found to be more threatening, "Now how about those cadavers?"

"You have no idea what you've set in motion." Helga replied almost accusingly but the underlying theme of fear was ever-present, "I don't care what you do, it's not going to be worse than what they will." She hung up with a click. Skipper really did pay attention to detail in his act recruiting Helga. It didn't matter if Private was dead or not, not that he was insensitive to how everyone felt about the kid's loss, but things like that happened in the field and you just had to keep going. Really it was Lola Knight's fault. If she hadn't murdered her husband he wouldn't have had to have done this and Private and Rat king wouldn't have had to fake their deaths.

**That was probably the hardest chapter I've written which is why it took me so long. Anyway, I was a bit vague about this but Skipper and Jones could just walk out because Van Dorn left since he couldn't convince Skipper of Lola's guilt and so reverted to his contingency, namely framing Lola. **

**Skipper restarts the Penguins claiming the Department doesn't have the man power or the resources to find Van Dorn. Van Dorn's theory, it was also a trick to try to get him to come out of hiding by convincing him that Skipper would go the way of his father unless he released Lola.**


	19. Traitor

"Bricked up, my particle collider," Kowalski scoffed as Blowhole appeared out of the dark, damp and supposedly blocked concrete passageway that led into the second in command's office, "Hasn't Skipper ever heard of a disintegration ray? I've got six of them!"

"It certainly seems an improvement on the old HQ." Blowhole commented, admiring the office. It was the first time he'd visited since the destruction and Van Dorn could see his eyes noticing the few personal touches Kowalski had added.

"Wait till you see the lab, you're going to be jealous." Kowalski boasted proudly.

"I already am, I've heard rumours about it."

"KOWALSKI!" Skipper's hollered from the office across the hall. Kowalski rolled his eyes and almost seemed to have to count backwards from ten to stop himself from yelling something insubordinate back.

"I think I have already shown him the intercom; it's not that hard to use, even for him." Kowalski grumbled at Skipper's method of getting his attention, "Stay here, I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

Kowalski left the office and Blowhole stayed put. Then his eyes darted to the door. He waited a few seconds so they wouldn't run into each other in the hall then on some kind of strange impulse stepped out, sauntering over to the door on the opposite side of the hall. He stood next to the door as if he were merely waiting for Kowalski to come out while he quietly pressed the microphone of a miniature listening device to the door. He immediately seemed to feel guilty and puzzled over what had possessed him to do such a thing and moved to pocket it again, but heard what could be the beginning of what he feared most.

"Helga, you're a weak link," Skipper drawled unconcernedly, and a glance at another monitor showed him leaned slightly forward in his chair his legs crossed, his upper body weight rested on his elbow which in turn supported itself on the arm rest. The same hand sported a pen drooping from a lazy wrist, "Kowalski heard every word of that call."

"But I turned him down!" She pleaded desperately, her trembling voice the polar opposite of Skipper's. She was stood opposite him across the mahogany desk, her hands clasped in front of her gripping a clutch purse. A few meters behind her near the door at the back of the room Kowalski observed the proceedings with a similar air to a haunting spectre, "I'd never turn on you guys, I'm grateful for the job and all."

"I know, and you were pretty brave to tell him that; I'm not going to deny the fact Van Dorn, to you, can probably be pretty scary." skipper countered, deciding to put the pen down and push a pile of papers flippantly aside.

"But his true craft is manipulation," Kowalski finished for Skipper, Helga's head whipping around, startled though she must have heard Skipper call for him, "and unfortunately he knows you too well. He's probably got an entire file of stuff he can use against you. You're dangerous."

"Can't I just get a transfer?" She pleaded, "Somewhere where I don't work on anything useful to Van Dorn?"

"You could." Skipper replied, "If Kowalski didn't tell me that you were feeding info to Rockgut."

"I'm not!" Her fingernails clawed into her bag.

"It's a reasonable probability to act on – 78% – that you are," Kowalski reported, "Much of the information he's received and I had to convince him was entirely untrue he almost certainly got from you." There was a long, drawn out, tense pause, at least from Helga Bluestone's perspective. Skipper seemed to be enjoying it.

"So… you just let me go, right?" She asked hopefully in barely a squeak.

"Of course not." Skipper countered, the corner of his mouth moving into a cruel smile at the opportunity to pass sentence, "Kowalski says he needs human test subjects if he' going to find out why the amnesia spray didn't work on Private, something I wanna know."

There was a muffled exclamation on the girl's part – Van Dorn could probably make it out on the other audio feed but he didn't exactly want to - and Blowhole ducked back into Kowalski's office, keeping the door open a crack so he could watch as Rico marched the unfortunate woman down to Kowalski's lab. As soon as he saw Kowalski leave the other office he rushed over to the opposite side of the room, seemingly admiring a hand bound collection of the Encyclopaedia Britannica that had once belonged to the first Kowalski.

"Sorry about that, sometimes Skipper needs some elements of my reports explained to him." Kowalski apologised as if that had been all he was doing walked over to Blowhole giving the books a quick glance over before his attention returned to the fellow scientist.

"Yeah, I wonder how you do it sometimes, working under someone else." Blowhole replied trying to keep the nervous tone out of his voice, but when Kowalski raised a hand to lovingly, though with almost a possessive air, brush a loose strand of flaxen hair into place he still stiffened.

"What's wrong with you?" Kowalski questioned and Blowhole forced a shaky smile onto his face.

"I guess the office just makes me nervous," Blowhole replied, "Last time I was here it wasn't under such pleasant circumstances." Operation: Clean Up, Van Dorn remembered from the files. Blowhole Jr. had been lucky to get a stern talking to – a daunting experience nonetheless from what he'd read – instead of ending up in the morgue with the rest of the conspirators. The theme seemed to be whenever there was an irrational action, that the first Kowalski's guilt over Doris' death could never be underestimated.

"We'll go down to the lab then." Kowalski took Blowhole's clammy hand in his as if nothing had changed. But something had changed, both in Blowhole's eyes and noticeable even to Van Dorn's. Something had definitely changed about Kowalski. Excellent acting technique, the ex-agent had explained it as, after being only briefly worried.

"I was just wondering," Blowhole blurted out the words before he'd hardly thought through them, "Why didn't that amnesia spray work on Private?"

"Oh, that," Kowalski replied as if the answer were the simplist in the world, "He was half drunk and on a double dose of truth serum, of course it didn't work properly."

"And Helga! Um..." What was wrong with this kid? "have you seen her around?" Then he added in explanation, "She owes me a quarter?"

"She's been transferred," Kowalski replied in that genial unconcerned tone, "I doubt you'll see her again."

* * *

Blowhole was clearly uncertain if this was going to work but it was worth a try. He'd wrested control of New York's electric grid before as part of previous schemes against the Penguins, until he realized he was trying to exact revenge on the wrong ones, so it was no difficulty to do it again. His worry was whether or not he would answer.

"We're ready doc." The red one reported from one of the rows of desks that covered the floor between him and the gigantic monitor at the other side of the room. Blowhole nodded, fitting the electronic eye piece over his right eye. He didn't need it to see with both eyes as his father had but for stuff like this it was good to have the constant stream of data available to him.

"Right send the message." Blowhole ordered. With a flick of a single switch the power for half of Queens shut off and would stay off for about two minutes. It wasn't an arbitrary half of Queens, though, but an intricate pattern of specific streets to which power was disrupted. It was designed to look like a technical failure and so escape Kowalski's close _human _scrutiny of the city but ex agent Johnny Van Dorn's complex _computerized_ surveillance system would pick up binary encoded message written on borough. Little did Blowhole know that Van Dorn had watched the whole process of him planning the signal.

Half an hour passed and Blowhole glanced frequently at his watch, tempted to repeat the signal in another borough or, though it would take considerably more time, in Chicago.

"I've got something boss!" Another lobster shouted and the data that lobster was looking at flashed before Blowhole's right eye. It seemed to be Chuck Charles continuing to report on Lola Knight's appeal against her verdict of guilt. The lobster zoomed in on some static in the corner and slowed the footage down considerably. The seemingly random blocks of static in the corner now looked like coherent letters flashing on the screen one after the other, the same message repeating constantly, "Come alone to the top of the Consolidated Amalgamated building. Don't bring any gadgets either, I'll know."

* * *

Blowhole stood at the top of the tower waiting for someone to turn up. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter around him frequently and had neglected his dinner in his excitement. He looked like he was starting to feel both. Every couple of seconds he'd look back over his shoulder to see if someone was standing in the shadows, a rational thing to do when trying to seem like someone attempting to cross the Penguins.

There was an odd crackling sound barely audible over the whistling of the wind. Blowhole looked around, puzzled, wondering if it was his imagination. He glanced down and he noticed a plain white cardboard box at his feet. Opening it, it contained a radio.

"And you call yourself a genius." Blowhole heard a voice speak alike enough to Skipper's that for a second he was afraid his plan had been foiled already. But Van Dorn could immediately see the question arise in his mind as to when Skipper had ever sported a Chicago accent, "Well, you better have something good otherwise I feel it my duty to tell the residents of Queens just who's been messing with their power. Points for creativity, though."

"The Penguins – what's left of them without Private – are losing it," Blowhole replied wasting no time.

"So it would seem. And you've issued a formal complaint to Rockgut Jr.?"

"I'm still on their most wanted list, like I could do that." Blowhole scoffed, returning the answer he'd gotten when he'd tried to make such a complaint. It had then taken him another five hours to tap into Rockgut's phone and even then he hadn't gotten anything positive from him personally either, "The boy paranoid's gone into denial. I told him he has to reel Skipper in but he says he thinks the Penguins are just going through a few 'growing pains' and that he's willing to take the risk to catch you."

"What do you want from me?" Van Dorn replied, "I'm on the most wanted list too, now, higher up than you, it's not like me making a complaint will go any further. If I tried it would probably get me an insanity plea."

"Rockgut's only going through with this craziness because of Lola," Blowhole countered and there was a note of desperation present he figured wouldn't do much good for his negotiations. Blowhole seemed to realize that and tried to block it out when he spoke again, "However you framed her, could you undo it or something? If the threat's off Lola then I can convince Rockgut that the Penguins have to be stopped before they pass the point of no return."

"She killed her husband in cold blood you know, and then tried to kill her kid." Van Dorn refused taking that stubborn tone that always came up when Lola Knight was mentioned. He'd previously been toying with the kid but bringing up Lola automatically made them serious, "She's gotta pay for that."

"I'm not even going to get into that, I only care about Kowalski. Look," If Skipper wasn't just… albeit unlikely, this was the most dangerous part of the conversation to be overheard by any Penguin, but then Skipper's act seem to include him caring about Lola only to the extent of being an excuse, "I'll kill Lola myself after she's released. Just don't let Kowalski go down like this!" There was a drawn out, uncomfortable silence.

"You're getting desperate, I can see," Van Dorn finally spoke, "She's reaching her final appeal so it's understandable, but I guess since I'm apparently not taking the hint to step in before Skipper goes the way of his father, Skipper had to be more direct by having you spell the problem out in black and white. I'm not fooled. Its impressive acting but I'm not buying it."

"Maybe it started out as a trap but it's not anymore," Blowhole almost pleaded, a strange tone for him to take. It must have taken a lot of convincing to get him to even pretend to throw himself on someone's mercy, "Kowalski's different now, even more… than the _other one_."

"Ah, so now you're trying to convince me that the Penguins are bringing out the psychopathic killer in him. Perhaps you should reconsider your choice of life partners?"

"You can stop this before it's too late, why won't you?!"

"Because it's a trap." The crackling ended, the connection severed. As Blowhole once again snuck out of the building via Kowalski's office of which his mind seemed entirely lost in thought. He'd pause in front of the desk, sliding out one of the drawers where a clandestine photograph was taken, the two of them laughing and joking together after an uninterrupted day in the lab. He shut it again with a grimace and a hand drifted to his collar where the graphite dust that had been on Kowalski's fingers earlier that day had smudged on his shirt collar.

Immediately he made a dive for the filing cabinet which he searched beginning to end only to find nothing. Of course Kowalski wouldn't keep anything where a search warrant could get at it, neither would he. Still, he searched the office top to bottom. That included under the carpets, in the light fixtures, he disassembled the entire desk and put it back together again. He checked empty looking documents under different wavelengths of light and handy chemicals; he even checked the characters for microdots before coming to the conclusion he had at the beginning of the search that there was nothing. It seemed to take some courage gathering to convince him to search the lab, probably because Helga Bluestone might be there, and, call him squeamish, but Van Dorn wasn't entirely sure he wanted to see that – not that she might actually have come to harm.

Blowhole searched the lab in a similar manor but came up a blank. Certainly there were dangerous and illegal compounds and chemicals but nothing that would get Kowalski more than a slap on the wrist while Blowhole would probably get something similar to Helga.

It was then he noticed the skeleton of a device lying on the table. He had yet to add an attractive case to it but it was decent enough and certainly compact. It fit into the palm of his hand and was about the thickness of a matchbox. Better still, it was completely silent and didn't use a flashbulb. Grabbing a box of film he inserted one of the miniature rolls of film into the camera a then inserted the camera into a small box cutting a hole where the shutter was and taping the box closed. The box was merely for camouflage - it was the same colour as the ceiling.

He hadn't seen Helga Bluestone or any form or percentage of her anywhere in the lab. Naturally, Kowalski wouldn't hold a prisoner in the first place Rockgut would look. Blowhole had checked around for evidence of where he might have taken her but once again: nothing.

If Kowalski was going to use her as a human test subject, though, he was going to have to bring her into the lab at some point. And experimenting on humans would certainly prompt Rockgut to call off the Penguins and hopefully he'd be able to bring the old Kowalski back. Still as Blowhole pasted the camera to the ceiling of the lab and a similar one to the ceiling of the office running off this assumption that Kowalski would do something incriminating on film, Van Dorn started to wonder what would get caught on it.

* * *

"...Naturally there will be those who are desperate enough for votes that they will play the hero, but they're a minor problem," Kowalski spoke standing before the desk behind which Skipper was absentmindedly spinning slowly around in the office chair. Skipper never took him seriously, often joking about how it was another one of Kowalski's proposals, not seeing that each and every one of them was part of the miniscule line between an empire and a cell. Van Dorn could understand how annoying that could be, "We'll deal with them."

"It's still pretty ambitious…"Skipper commented, drumming his fingers on the armrest, "I like it, though."

"I'm certain Rico will too." No mention was made of whether the younger member of the team would have agreed with the proposal to start to filter their own men into City Hall.

"Kowalski…" Skipper glanced at his watch, "Moon Cat's booked in for five minutes ago. I think he wants to surrender."

"I didn't think that was ever in question." Kowalski muttered with barely disguised annoyance but he did as he was told as Lieutenants were supposed to defer to their Captains. He stepped out of the office, shutting the door behind him. As he retracted his hand it brushed against the smooth door, but paused as he felt a small bump in the unblemished surface.

Kowalski turned around, examining the small dot. He carefully pried it off the door with a pair of forceps and placed it in a small plastic evidence bag. He held it up to the light, examining it. Miniature microphone prototype being developed for Consolidated Amalgamated. Not yet on the market. Prototypes had yet to be given to the manufactures as well.

He placed the object in his pocket with a thoughtful expression Van Dorn couldn't quite read anything from but there was certainly something on his mind. After a few seconds pause he started back towards his office.


	20. Doubts

Kowalski knocked three times on the door of his superior's office. No answer. This wasn't strange to Van Dorn, as he knew Skipper had gone out to lunch with his fiancée some time ago. He'd have thought Kowalski would have known that too. The second in command knocked once more before turning the handle and pushing the door open. He shut it quietly but firmly behind him and strode confidently over to the desk. He shuffled through some papers, examining each one briefly before discarding it. On one, however, his attention held long enough for Van Dorn to make out a couple of lines:

"…I don't disagree with you, we're out of the Department's control now," It seemed to be some kind of letter; typed, though with Skipper's unmistakable signature on the bottom, "Still, the request to break with Rockgut is denied. We've got a half decent operation running and I don't want to lose that. Anyway, I don't know what kind of contingencies he put in which could possibly have a chance of stopping the Penguins. I think we can string it out a few years. With his reputation at stake he's unlikely to do anything…"

Kowalski folded the memorandum neatly and placed it in his briefcase. An unfinished letter addressed to himself seemed an unusual thing to take but the ex-agent resolved this quickly. Skipper had probably told him to pick up the letter from the desk to save him time. Kowalski left the room as he'd come with absolutely nothing suspicious about it.

* * *

Seeing Blowhole Jr.'s predicament – albeit entirely scripted – gave Van Dorn a new appreciation for Skipper's artistry at creating this whole falsified decent into corruption. The kid had to know he'd been watching him since he'd gotten Kowalski's plans and there were few places out of range of his network. To remain in character for so long and to execute stunts that would usually take one of those Hollywood special effects people, like Private's railway accident, was impressive. The problem was the very same one that had unmasked the original Skipper to his first criminal employers: namely that there were no bodies despite heavy casualties. Corpses don't just get up and walk out of the morgue never to be seen again unless they're actually very alive.

Then there was the planning. They'd have had to plan and communicate every intricate detail with unfailing accuracy while he was watching the whole time, something he still didn't know how they did but he'd work it out.

"Damm't, 'elga, don'…!" Rico's voice exclaimed followed by the sound of a shot. Van Dorn's attention was automatically drawn to another monitor. The scene was situated partially in one of his few blind spots though he could see what was going on just fine. Rico was stood facing someone at the door of the lab, weapon in hand. He ran towards the lab door that Van Dorn had heard open and shut and his eyes moved to another feed where Helga Bluestone, already in bad shape but now clutching a gunshot wound in her shoulder – more theatrics no doubt – stumbled into the hallway, her eyes like that of a hunted animal.

He saw her muster some strength and duck into a corridor before Rico could spot her as he stepped out of the lab. Rico glanced around, the disinterested slump of his shoulders telling the watcher he was doing this more out of the need to follow protocol than care over what happened to Helga, then pocketed the gun and started going through the motions of looking. Skipper would later spend a good fifteen minutes lecturing him over this breach of security and Kowalski would make various threats against him after having lost his beloved test subject mid experiment until Skipper promised he could have another one if it would shut him up.

The drama over, the vaguely interested agent returned to his close watch on Blowhole who was attempting to message one of his Red Ones that he needed more film and somebody to collect the old film for development and analysis.

"I don't want a substitute I want Thompson!" Blowhole ordered into the short wave radio. For obvious reasons he couldn't use an ordinary telephone and he kept his voice so low Van Dorn could barely hear him though ordinarily he'd be shouting at this point, "Why not Doyle? Because he's taking home 28.665% more than he should be making. I can't take the chance that extra money is coming from..." he caught himself about to say Kowalski. The conversation up until now was still arguably innocent save for that, "Rockgut." Good call, "Anyway, I don't care if he has pneumonia…" he stiffened at the sound of footsteps in the hallway and his volume dropped further, "he'll switch the briefcases at the bus station, develop the film inside and make sure the extra film's in the case I get…"

"What?! I can't hear ya!" The radio crackled loudly in a thick Brooklyn accent. Blowhole winced.

"Keep it down, would you? I'm in enemy territory," unforgivable slip up, he was lucky Kowalski hadn't walked in, "Keep all this to yourself, otherwise that pot of hydrochloric acid I keep in the basement…" his groundless threat died on his lips as his eyes locked on a few drops of red on the floor. It was more blood than would come from a paper cut and Blowhole automatically knew whose it was. He muttered something sympathetic, getting on hands and knees to take a sample which he placed in a relatively hidden pocket in his jacket, "Stand by to accept a delivery from Marion." He ordered before ending the conversation.

Blowhole ran almost half the way up the stairs to Kowalski's office and was panting when he finally pushed the door open. It certainly looked conspicuous, but every moment he held that blood sample – at the same time as his more recent negatives – he might as well have a time bomb in his pocket. He walked over to a small table in the corner on which a dome shaped object with a cloth over it perched next to a typewriter where it looked like Kowalski was doing corrections on a letter. He whipped the cloth off the dome to reveal a small bird cage where Marion waited.

Marion was a carrier pigeon whose career's heyday had been during the restoration of Consolidated Amalgamated during which she'd been used to ferry messages between the two sweethearts. The supposedly 'mad' scientist carefully removed her from her cage to attach the small sample to her leg. He considered adding the negatives too, but that would be a bit much. He opened a window and the strong winds that came with the altitude blew some of the papers on the desk to the floor and pulled at the sheet of paper in the typewriter enough to tear it slightly. He began to move his hand to allow Marion to fly off into the sunset.

The door at the other side of the room opened and a familiar shadow extended from the door.

"You're back early!" Was all Blowhole could manage, though his unusually high voice was noticeably higher still with surprise.

"Crisis back here, Skipper called me back," Kowalski replied as Blowhole remained frozen at the window, "What's wrong with the post?"

"Oh," He stuttered, shutting the window on impulse but automatically regretting not having let Marion fly, "I thought she might like some exercise."

"Well she wouldn't do much good since she's not Marion. Lizzie's been trained to go somewhere else now. What brings you here?" Kowalski asked, "I thought you don't like the office."

"I left a book behind." Blowhole replied hurriedly trying to tactically edge his way to the door before remembering to pocket the sample and return 'Lizzie' to her cage.

"You shouldn't leave stuff behind, Skipper might identify it. Where is it?"

"Well, I just realized I hadn't left it here." Kowalski frowned with concern and Blowhole's internal organs seemed to rearrange themselves. He wasn't used to 'field work' as Kowalski called it and he certainly didn't like it.

Blowhole was so wrapped up in debating his own fears that he didn't notice Kowalski was now stood directly opposite him until his hand grasped his. A slight shiver betrayed his mood, though it was cleverly disguised. His eyes seemed to briefly develop a surprisingly wistful quality, as if remembering a Kowalski before the Penguins. Van Dorn had to say the way Kowalski held the other man's hand was different from before. The gesture seemed to express his ownership, the grip controlled Blowhole's every move.

"You seem so on edge these days." Kowalski observed, a kind of half smile to his expression and a smooth note in his voice that made even Van Dorn uncomfortable though he wasn't there. Kowalski's eyes gave Blowhole a once over, "'s a lot to adjust to, isn't it?"

"Well, wasn't understanding inertia in first grade?" the other scientist replied in a dry laugh. Kowalski's intense gaze which had previously held him under a microscope disappeared.

"That reminds me?" He grinned as if it was just any old breakthrough, "I've got something to show you in the lab."

* * *

His hand caressed his neck, the grip almost stifling as his lips pulled away. Chasm like blue eyes smiled into Blowhole's, but it was nothing reassuring. The movements froze and Van Dorn could see it took every fibre of courage – and common sense – in Blowhole's mind not to just run. He'd tried to get rid of the sample along the way but he hadn't found the nerve to slip it under the door of an empty conference room of into one of the many files in the lab. But he had to seem perfectly fine and keep his hand well away from his pocket.

"You're so nervous all the time," the criminal's silver tongue reported. The hand not on his neck brushed his cheek but it was almost a gesture one would use on a pet. Van Dorn knew the difference, as did Blowhole. Kowalski stepped closer, his well-toned chest almost crushing Blowhole against the lab work surface that dug into his back. Blowhole exhaled shakily.

"Well, you know." He half stuttered. Van Dorn's hand reached instinctively for the phone; his only connection to the outside world but he stopped himself. He wanted to do something. It had to be all staged still part of him could feel the air of menace that blanketed the room on the screen and he couldn't stand it. But there was nothing he could do but watch unless he was going to fall into Skipper's trap.

"Of course I understand." Kowalski whispered with a more genuine smile that eased Blowhole's and Van Dorn's nerves. He reassured himself that the cold glint in the Penguin's eye had been his imagination. Blowhole's hand moved to run along Kowalski's chest, at the same time attempting to free the other one caught between his mid back and the work surface, returning the embrace. In a blur Kowalski's other hand left his cheek and held it down. Blowhole supressed a wince as the love of his life's fingers clamped over his wrist, "You're nervous about whether I'm going to find those treacherous negatives in your pocket."

Kowalski's hand was noticeably uncomfortable around his neck.

* * *

"Blowhole, Francis," the coroner's assistant reported broadly motioning to the cadaver. 'Detective Allen Smith' nodded, "Died of strangulation – some kind of accident with some lab equipment."

"There's finger marks." Van Dorn countered.

"Well ya never know what's supposed to be in that lab, maybe he got in a fight with a robot or something." The white coated man replied though it was clear from his look that he didn't believe a word of the explanation he'd tell the higher ups. Van Dorn grimaced. He'd seen the whole thing in colour and sound. But almost like in a play where the movements were choreographed so Blowhole could have gotten a breath in between without Van Dorn seeing it. Coincidence or more likely, something more. Well this time he could know for sure.

"I see there's been no autopsy." He commented.

"Nah, next of kin, Doris Blowhole, said no."

"Doris Blowhole's been dead over ten years."

"Yeah well, it wasn't a crime, just an accident and some influential people were backing it up."

"Interesting. Would you do me a favour?"

"Anything for the Skipper." A grin of recognition spread across the technician's face, "All of us old timers are rooting for you, y'know."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Van Dorn replied with a contradictory smile. Well, it was nice to know at least some people understood what he was doing, "Anyway, I need a blood sample."

"Sure, I got a bunch…" the assistant coroner reached for one of a row of vials.

"No, I want my own sample." He countered. The technician nodded grimly but didn't stop him as he drew the blood, pocketing the sample. He checked the pulse out of habit but there was nothing. It would take a while to have it analysed back in Chicago but he couldn't trust anyone in New York. A pulse wasn't everything. He knew a toxin or two that would make Blowhole look as lifeless as he did.

"'s a dame, sapphire or something they brought in." The lab coated man stopped him as he left.

"Bluestone?"

"Yeah, Bluestone," Van Dorn had meant to catch up with her some time, "I figure you might wanna see her."

* * *

"I warned you, Johnny." The woman glared with dark fire in her eyes. Her shoulder was thoroughly bandaged and Van Dorn by his own inspection was quite sure that it was a real wound, "I said you'd gone too far and you did."

"Lady, you getting shot doesn't prove that they're going off the deep end," Van Dorn countered, "It just means they're desperate enough to prove that to me that they'd shoot you. You were standing about two meters away from Rico when he shot you? Since when do the Penguins aim for the heart and hit the shoulder at two meters?"

"He practically let me go; I think I startled him, that's why he shot me." She replied wearily, "Ironically enough I think he's the sanest of the three of them now, but he just does what Skipper and Kowalski say."

"Don't you mean what Skipper says?"

"Kowalski's got his own agenda going on behind Skipper's back. He's starting to hate Skipper, you know," She rubbed a suspicious looking trail of needle marks on her arm and he knew she was no drug addict. Evidence of the experiments, "He doesn't talk much when he's experimenting on you but I could tell." The quiet enjoyment Kowalski had seemed to glean from Blowhole's slowly weakening attempts to breathe flooded back to him with the bitterness of Helga's tone, "I don't expect to live long here. He's either going to take me back or he's gonna send someone to kill me. I hope he kills me." Van Dorn nodded.

"Get your coat, you're coming with me." he ordered.

"What?"

"You're coming with me but it's a bit of a trip so you're gonna want a coat." It made sense either way. If Kowalski really would come back for her on the off chance it was real… he didn't think he could watch it again. If the whole thing was faked Helga would obviously feel resentful against them for shooting her and sending her out wandering the streets half dazed and would so be the weakest link in the chain. He could use someone to talk to, anyway, "I'm gonna have you searched for tracers first, though."

"If it saves my neck." She shrugged.

* * *

"I don't understand why Skipper won't let me go anywhere by myself these days." Marlene thought aloud with a sigh. Kowalski shrugged.

"Go figure," He replied, for once not sprouting back a wordy explanation. Marlene seemed to pick up on this.

"It's no trouble, right?" She confirmed assuming his reluctance to speak was out of dislike for the assignment, "Especially just after…"

"Not at all. It's good to take my mind off the accident," He replied reassuring her with that warm kind of awkward smile. From homicidal maniac to friendly high school nerd, an actor acting the part of an actor.

"I mean, you've probably got more important things to be doing…"

"Making sure you're safe is pretty important, even if Skipper hadn't ordered me here." Kowalski corrected, "Anyway, Doris says I ought to get out more. So," he returned the conversation to topic, "where do you want to go?" the scientist removed his clip board from his bag to streamline and organise whatever plans Marlene would sprout back. Marlene grinned.

"Well…"

* * *

Marlene waved goodbye to the third enjoyable afternoon she'd spent with the nerdy but conversational scientist. She was in such a good mood she was humming as she tidied up the mess of papers and pieces of various weapons that Skipper had left on the dining room table the previous night. They were mostly bills and contracts and boring stuff from the sale of Consolidated Amalgamated, impatient reports to Rockgut and even more impatient cables back. Nothing much had changed, though Marlene still visited Lola every week for moral support.

One of the sheets of paper caught her eye. Helga thought it was the word Penguin, which had been carefully removed from all the other documents. She'd described to Van Dorn how Skipper was careful to make sure Marlene never saw anything that would hint at his real job. She'd seen Skipper with Marlene and she'd seen him at the office. As different as chalk and cheese, or Tony Knight and the first Skipper.

"I really disagree with you; we're out of the Department's control now." The type written memorandum that bore Skipper's signature read. Van Dorn was as puzzled as Marlene as he grabbed the verbatim notes he'd taken on the letter Kowalski had removed from the office. They were similar, but they didn't match up – even physically this one had a slight tear half way through - and it seemed to contradict Skipper's original views, "Still, the request to tell Rockgut is denied. We've got a half decent operation running and I don't want to lose that. There's no amount of contingencies he could have put in place that would have a chance of stopping the Penguins. I think we can string this out a few years. With his reputation at stake he's unlikely to do anything…"

Marlene turned pale and tossed the note back at the table as if it were poisoned. He could see her putting two and two together as she stared at it. She snatched it and read it through again but the text hadn't changed. She compared the signature to a check she'd seen Skipper sign that morning and she compared the type with a letter Skipper had sent her on his last international case. They both matched.

Van Dorn could see her go into a kind of frozen mode again. She'd walk in one direction, then turn back fretting. Who could she turn to? He could see her fear and betrayal start to turn to anger and horror as she realized just what that letter meant. There were no androids, no officially sanctioned mission and Private's death was probably more than just the field casualty she'd been lead to believe. What else was he keeping from her?

The shopping bag from her worry free day caught her eye and her face brightened. She made a dive for the phone and dialled the number of Consolidated Amalgamated. In seconds Kowalski replied in grim tones that he was sorry she'd seen what she'd seen and that he'd be over there as soon as he could think of an excuse for Skipper.


	21. Repeating the Past

"Who was that?" Skipper asked as Kowalski re-entered the room, seating himself down on one of the chairs opposite Skipper's desk his fingers drumming on his briefcase. As much as they both tried not to show it, Van Dorn could see the stress was getting to them. They'd both developed new habits: Skipper had become an avid doodler, drawing long patterns of rectangles and squares whenever there was a pen and paper in reach, and Kowalski liked to impersonate a concert pianist on any flat surface. That was what annoyed Van Dorn most, the tip-tap tap-tap, tap-tap-tip tap-tap-tap tip-tip tap-tip tap-tap-tip, tap tap-tap-tap, tap-tap tip tip tap, tip-tip-tip-tip tip tip-tap-tip... It was just an annoying background noise in the middle of a suspenseful conversation.

"Only Doris." Kowalski replied. Now _that _was a lie and Skipper would have realized if he hadn't taken Van Dorn's advice and blocked the whole Central Park incident from his mind. Van Dorn could see Helga, standing silently behind him, had come to the same conclusion and was glaring at him because of it, "She wants me to buy milk on the way back."

"Don't they always." Skipper replied, tossing the notepad boredly across the desk. Van Dorn gave him ten seconds before he'd pick it up again.

"That reminds me, there was a business matter I wanted to discuss with you." Skipper picked up the notepad again after six seconds, "We're getting unpopular with the general public."

"Of course we are, we're stealing their life's savings."

"I've been careful to make sure we avoided disrupting the average Joe," Kowalski countered… Tip-tip-tip-tip, Tip-tip-tip tip-tap tap-tip-tap-tap tip-tip-tip, Tip-tip-tip-tip tip, Tap tap-tap-tap tap-tap-tap tap-tip-tap, Tap-tap-tap tip-tap-tap tap-tip, Tip-tip-tip tip-tap tap-tap tip-tap-tap-tip tip-tap-tip-tip tip… It was getting annoying, especially because Kowalski's finger was near the microphone so the miniscule taps sounded like exploding fire crackers, "A 'Robin Hood' persona decreases the amount of 'heroes' as the general public think we're on their side, but some ex of Rico's, anchor woman, is trying to rally the public against us."

"So what do you think we should do about it?" Skipper replied, still not caring much. It was clear from the way Kowalski barely disguised a disdainful glance that he didn't like Skipper's flippant view of the world. Van Dorn agreed, more than ever before, that Skipper inhabited a kind of fairy land of the choicest missions. Kowalski, on the other hand, got the long, drudging grunt work. He was the one who made the cogs in the intricate machine turn, but then that skewed his view of the world too.

"Let's give them a better class of symbol, something like a 'Simon Dale," Kowalski answered, that glint in his eyes that showed there was something up his sleeve. Tap-tap-tap tap-tip, Tip tap tip tip, Tip-tap-tip-tip tip-tip tap-tip tip , Tap-tip tap-tap-tap tip-tap-tap he drummed rapidly on the table with excitement, "We convince them to put it all on one horse – our horse – and then we bring it all down."

"Who do you suggest? Archie? Everyone knows about him, he wouldn't turn traitor," Skipper countered.

"Why not you?"

"Have you finally lost it? "Skipper vs. the Penguins?!"" Kowalski rolled his eyes.

"Not _you_ you, naturally. Create someone else," He removed a half inch thick document from his briefcase, "I've already made the preparations." He all but winced as Skipper set his hard work aside preferring to listen to the short version, "Jason Anthony – sorry about the name, but nobody knows he went off a cliff and he's perfect for the part. Unsung do-gooder type who's about to make his debut into big-time politics. We'll throw him a few victorious battles but he's set up from the start to lose the war."

"Tear him down with a scandal or something and people will forget about de glamorizing the Penguins." Skipper mused pushing the notebook away in favour of the dossier. He must have been interested even before that, since he'd only drawn six new lines and boxes, "I like it. It'll get me out of the office for a while."

"Let's keep this between us, though," Kowalski added hurriedly as Skipper dismissed him, "I predict we'll make approximately $2113 dollars playing bookie for Rico and some of the others betting on how far he'll get before you 'notice' him."

* * *

Marlene had fretted almost non-stop in the half hour between when she placed the call and when the doorbell rang. In the two minutes before Kowalski arrived, she seemed to settle down, just glaring at the coffee table having tossed the note away after a few careful inspections.

"Afternoon, Marlene." Kowalski greeted entering the apartment, "Damn traffic…" he snatched the note from the table the moment he saw it, though he had the look of one who already knew what he was going to see and dreaded it, "Where did you find this?" he asked after he'd scanned it once or twice.

"In some of Skipper's papers." She replied bluntly marching briskly into the living area, though her arms hugged her waist and her fingers dug into her sweater. Kowalski followed her with a slightly bewildered expression, "Prominently placed."

"What the note implies…"

"It's a forgery, in case you didn't take my hint." She interrupted in a breathy, rushed voice, turning around and facing him for the first time, "I'm sorry I interrupted whatever you were doing but at the time you were the only person I thought I could trust. It has to be a forgery. Skipper wouldn't do any of this."

"Of course it is," he replied gently though the moment she said it was a forgery a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. Very conspicuously, for such a talented actor. Marlene's eyes narrowed, summing him up, and suddenly she was stifling sobs.

"What's wrong?" Kowalski inquired as he offered her a handkerchief and waited for her to pull herself together, "It's only a forgery, like you said." Marlene nodded, perching herself on the couch. Kowalski sat next to her.

Brown eyes looked up at him, almost accusingly.

"Is it true?" she demanded, "The note's lying, right?"

"Of course!" he replied in a flighty voice. His eyes didn't meet hers, "Why would you think anything different."

"Now_ you're_ lying!" she accused and looked down at her knees again as a tear rolled down her cheek. Kowalski said nothing for some time, looking guilty as if he was surprised his lie had been uncovered.

"I'm sorry," he finally spoke in barely a hoarse whisper, "You never should have known about this." Marlene didn't respond, "I know… I shouldn't be telling you, I'm going against Skipper's direct orders – not for the first time this week – but…" he winced, "some of the things he's made me do…"

"I'm guessing it wasn't an accident what happened to Francis." She finally cut in. Kowalski nodded.

"No it wasn't." Marlene could figure out the rest and she started dabbing furiously at the tears and running mascara that covered her eyes as if trying to clean herself up.

"What have _I_ got to cry about then?" she scoffed and tried to steady her voice. It was then Van Dorn realized that she and Kowalski were no longer just sitting next to each other. They were holding each other like the other was the only thing left in the world, "So my fiancée twists the truth a little? So what? It's not like…"

"You have every right to feel…"

"Sad?" she snapped with a sudden viciousness, "I'm _not _sad. I'm furious!" the hand that had kept her running mascara from staining his shirt seemed to be almost clawing into her forehead. She pulled away, pacing the floor, he hands tying themselves into knots, "I've just been _sitting here_ enjoying the proceeds of Skipper's blood money…" she viciously wiped away a tear before it made it more than an inch, "He promised me when he gave me this ring," the engagement ring was no longer on her finger, "that he'd never have anything to do with the Penguins." She stopped pacing, "but here I am talking about me again, while what he's doing to people like you..."

"I guess it's my fault if it's anybody's," Kowalski muttered as if assure her that he shouldn't be the focal point of her survivor's guilt, "I did try, but I didn't do enough until it was too late."

"You did what you could. I saw the letter, remember?" She replied, "So what's our next move?"

Kowalski went to say something but opted to keep his mouth shut.

"Well? Can we reason with him?" She questioned on a new proactive turn, "Corner him in the woods Magna Carta style? What about blackmail…?"

"I've tried all that," Kowalski interrupted looking the very picture of hopelessness, "He's been careful, really careful, and if I go any further than I already have I run the risk of going the way of Private and Francis. I've got to play along, it's not like I'd do any good dead. And you call yourself selfish." There was a good deal of thoughtful silence. Eventually Marlene found her way back to the couch her head resting on Kowalski's shoulder. The two just sat there for a while, Kowalski even managed to restrain his tapping.

"We've gotta kill him, don't we?" She finally spoke.

"What?!" Kowalski exclaimed.

"What else can we do?" She replied, "We can't reason with him, we can't stop him with force and whatever oasis of what he used to be that he's been saving for me is going to dry up soon." Kowalski nodded, "But then you thought of all that, didn't you?"

"Yeah." He replied reluctantly, "I've know it's the only option for a while – I've had it in the back of my head when I'd give Skipper suggestions even – but I couldn't bring myself to do it." Marlene's expression hardened.

"So _we're_ going to kill him." She spoke with determination. The tears were gone now, just cold hard resolve, "It'll take time to plan, though it's going to be hard not to poison him the next time he asks me to pour him a drink."

"Are you completely sure…?"

"You've got a point," she interrupted him again, "I guess you know best about this kind of thing, I'm going to lose my nerve, aren't I? That's what you're afraid of?" Marlene folded the handkerchief over, using the clean side to wipe away any remaining stains, "Take me into the office tomorrow, I'll put on a blond wig or something and you can call me your secretary or Doris or something, but I want to see it. Then I won't lose my nerve."

That was pretty much all that was said. Kowalski got a call from Skipper and he had to leave. In the almost complete silence that came with the enormity of what they'd just agreed to he grabbed his coat and hat and went to leave. Still, as the door shut behind him and he began to exit Van Dorn's range, the watcher saw something in Kowalski's expression other than grief for a fallen friend. It looked more like a triumphant smirk.

* * *

"Proud of yourself?" Helga spoke at his right shoulder, almost choking back heartbroken tears. Van Dorn knew who those tears were for, "None of them were ever like this, you drove them to it."

"They had it in them anyway." Van Dorn replied, switching through the various monitors to see Kowalski arrive at work and inform Skipper that he had employed a new secretary to help him keep up with the administrative side while he was out playing public hero.

"Well everybody's supposed to have a little evil in them, if that's what you're trying to use as an excuse," Helga countered without pausing a second. In conversation the woman was an acrobat, even when not attempting to show off her intellect. If Kowalski hadn't decided to – hadn't pretended to decide to – brand her a traitor and use her as a lab rat, they would have been perfect for each other, though that was irrelevant because Blowhole was actually alive.

"Lola Knight had more than a little evil in her when she stabbed her husband in cold blood."

"Always back to the same topic, Lola Knight," Helga rolled her eyes, "Well think on this one: she killed _one_ guy who deserved it _more_ than a little. Directly you killed Parker and that _innocent _Sergeant Cooper, and indirectly every single person – Private included – who isn't alive today because of the Penguins. And don't forget the possibility Lola's innocent. All of that's on you." she shot him an extra glare for good measure, "I don't know how you do it."

"I'd agree with you if it wasn't all faked." It had to all be faked, otherwise he didn't know how he could live with himself.

* * *

"Feeling better?" Kowalski asked as Marlene re-entered the living room of the penthouse apartment Kowalski said Skipper had insisted he buy and had gotten it past Rockgut by claiming a certain amount of extravagance was needed for appearances. She nodded weakly, patting the hair she'd only just tidied for good measure, "Bad day to go to work with me."

"The best day I could have," she countered grimly, "I'll never forget the way he looked when he executed those two agents." She was referring to the poor attempt on the part of one of Rockgut's subordinates to uncover corruption within the Penguins and have him thrown out like Jones. Skipper hadn't been fooled two seconds by the oldest trick in the book to get into the building and set up surveillance: telephone repair. They'd held up well, Skipper didn't get much out of them aside from the fact they were pawns in the game of Department politics, and when he realized he had no further use for them the obvious occurred. Marlene, or Doris as Skipper now knew her as, had been instructed to take notes on the whole thing; after all, Kowalski's girl could be trusted, right?

"I've finalized our course of action," Kowalski altered the topic, "I assume you're still game?"

"I'd wanted to kill him then and there." She replied. A half smile flickered across Kowalski's face though he altered it to smiling at her instead of the prospect of another number added to his growing body count. Marlene smiled nervously back like a teenage girl at her first crush. Seated next to the observing agent, Helga's lips tightened.

"He's got her support, I don't get why he had to go that far?" Van Dorn thought aloud. Realizing this, he elaborated, "Greed-corrupted Kowalskis are sickeningly logical creatures, they do only what's necessary and no more in case they mess up their primary goals."

"This one's got an ego." Helga answered, "I don't feel threatened," she defended herself against Van Dorn's automatic assumption, "He doesn't care about her in the least. He's probably going to kill her after Skipper's given the Penguins to her and she's agreed to give them to him should anything happen to her. He'd do it without the Penguins though, he's doing it mostly because he can."

Turning back to the monitor Van Dorn noticed Marlene was now on a roll.

"…It's gotta happen at the Copacabana," she argued, "Tradition."

"That'll make it too obvious." Kowalski countered, "A quiet and undisputed accident."

"But I want him to know what he became," Marlene argued, "I want him to know in his last few seconds that he's no better than his father." Kowalski had to agree there. Contrary to her previous flood of cooped up ideas, Marlene lapsed into a nervous silence, "I guess this is kinda selfish of me…"

"Be as selfish as you want."

"People feel loyal to Skipper so you won't be able to get me out with contacts..." She began nervously, gripping Kowalski's hand a little tighter, "What if I get caught?"

"You won't," Kowalski countered as if it were a simple matter of fact though the suspenseful pauses he placed between his sentences had Marlene, Helga and Van Dorn hanging from his every word, "because you aren't going to do it. You can be there, but you won't do it."

"You…?!" she gasped jumping to the obvious conclusion of 'if not Marlene, then Kowalski'. Kowalski scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous," Van Dorn knew for a fact he'd predicted the entire conversation. He'd only led her through the process to make her feel like they were partners and she wasn't just a piece in the game, "Rico's going to do it. You said you wanted irony, didn't you?" Kowalski couldn't fully disguise his grin this time, "Rico's going to kill Skipper of his own free will in the Copacabana in front of a whole room full of witnesses."


	22. The Day of the Murder

"Ya wan'ed ta see 'e, sir?" Rico inquired respectfully to his superior. Van Dorn could see Helga's point about him being in a way the sanest of the bunch. He'd seemingly resigned himself to a kind of bleak indifference, carrying out his superior's commands without judgement or opinion.

"You've heard of Jason Anthony?" Kowalski asked. Rico nodded, "I've got nothing certain, but what I've heard is enough to act on." Kowalski's tone sounded grave as if 'Jason Anthony' was the threat of the century, "Anthony's got something devastating on us."

"Dev'stating?" Rico requested elaboration. Elaborating was what Kowalski did best; that had never changed.

"The kind of devastating that would put the three of us in the same position as Lola Knight." That sold Rico. He might not be sympathetic to Kowalski and Skipper's boundless greed but he'd kept his sense of self preservation. Van Dorn couldn't hold that against him, "He intends to pass it on to a contact tonight at midnight at the Copacabana. Skipper hasn't told me who the contact is, but I want to know."

"Kill 'm both aft'r the sale." Rico resolved the issue.

"I wish," Kowalski corrected, "Skipper, who's under deep cover right now, says the contact needs to be kept alive - I don't know why -, but he can't see what Anthony's got either. Essentially, I want you to follow Anthony until you know who the contact is but hasn't seen Anthony, then kill him and take what he was going to trade. The contact will assume Anthony merely failed to show up. Understood? Absolutely no deviations." Rico nodded reluctantly and Kowalski sent him on his way.

* * *

"He told me once he admired the first Kowalski." Helga commented off handed-ly but Van Dorn wasn't listening. He was violently flipping through Volume 3 of Any and All Predictable Scenarios and Contingencies. But none of the ingenious and fool proof plans said anything about stopping a murder, "Now he just seems like he's copying, setting up his little murder like this. I consider that a crime against intellectual integrity."

"Fine time for you to start worrying about stuff like that," Van Dorn grumbled as he tossed the volume aside where it landed with a thump on the desk, "There's nothing here!" he snapped, "Apparently, Kowalski never predicted any of this happening!"

"Why don't you just warn Rockgut?" she asked, "You might not know this, but when normal people find out about a murder, they're supposed to call the police."

"You're forgetting that I'm a very wanted man and Rockgut's in denial," Van Dorn countered, "If I call, he traces my location – unlike you, he knows how – and the moment he gets me Lola Knight walks."

* * *

"How much do you think ought to go to a widow?" Kowalski asked spontaneously.

"Didn't catch that?" Skipper replied. Van Dorn saw Kowalski suppress a retort of 'as usual'.

"Cupid Kitka's boyfriend went missing in action last week," Kowalski replied, "She's destitute, despite the fact she's got multiple degrees in criminology. How much should I give her?"

"We aren't running an insurance firm, Kowalski," skipper countered, "Didn't she have a policy on him?"

"If she'd had a policy I would has assumed she'd killed him," Kowalski countered, "How much did you give Marlene?"

"I'm not dead yet."

"You mean you haven't left her anything in case of an accident?" Kowalski replied in astonishment, "Doris doesn't know it yet, but if something happens to me she'll get everything." This seemed to sink in.

"You're right," Skipper replied, and told Archie as much on the phone. Archie promised that the moment he finished dealing with a subpoena from another one of Rockgut's political frenemies he'd be right over. Kowalski watched with passive amusement as Skipper signed everything away to Marlene, and naturally, if Marlene died first the Penguins were his and Rico's.

"You'll take care of her?" Skipper questioned after Archie had left, "She doesn't know our kind of work?"

"I'll definitely take care of her." Kowalski replied. He glanced at his watch, "That reminds me of why I came here: some reporter dug up something interesting on us and is looking to give it to a 'worthy cause'. I think using Jason Anthony to make him hand it over willingly might be a better method of getting it than picking him up and getting it out of him. Cleaner too."

"Alright." Skipper replied, "When and where? I assume you've already arranged all of it."

"He wants to meet at the Copacabana at eleven o'clock."

* * *

"Alright, so Kowalski didn't predict _this _situation," Helga spoke in almost a mocking tone, "Use a little imagination, when you boil it down our problem is that we need to find a way to force Kowalski to stand down. Volume 1, Section 32 b: How to Make Someone Act Against Their Interests." Feeling stupid, Van Dorn turned to the page. He skipped past anything to do with financial matters, bribery or alliances. None of those would work in this case, "Get someone they care about." Helga paraphrased aloud with a scoff, "No brainer." She reached for the phone, "So, who do we pick up."

Van Dorn frowned. It was certainly hard to imagine Kowalski in his current state caring for anyone but certainly, hopefully, he once had. A few names sprung to mind Doris/Francis Blowhole, but he was dead by Kowalski's own hands, Private, but he'd fallen off a box car. They were really the only two. There were other people like the boys from the same armoured division Kowalski had served in or fellow academics in the Department but Kowalski had always been a distant person between when he was accused of killing Doris Blowhole and the tank not-accident that had connected him to Skipper.

"Dead end." Van Dorn replied and Helga let the receiver fall back into place and resumed reading.

"Hey, this is funny," Helga scoffed, "accuse them of something and force them to play ball or not disclose evidence to interested third party that they couldn't have done it. Know anyone that might have happened to? I'll give you a clue, the name starts with L…"

"I could have worked things better, I admit it already," he grumbled. He gave the volume of contingencies another withering glare, "I'm good at catching guys like this or working out their cleaver little plans, not doing it myself."

"How about you send in an anonymous tip to Skipper or something?" she suggested.

"They'd trace it."

"It takes time and preparation to trace things." She countered, speaking as if she thought the comment was sheer genius.

"I can't ignore the possibility it's all been a trap. If it is, they're waiting for just that."

"So why don't you kill Kowalski before he kills Skipper?"

"Because I don't have time to plan a way of killing him without Rockgut knowing it was me," He snapped back. He had to say, if it wasn't a trap the whole thing was certainly a beautiful streak of luck not in his favour, "And if they know it was me then they announce that half the evidence they've got on Lola came from me directly or indirectly and with one murder charge on me they might say that I killed skipper no.1 and blamed it on her!"

* * *

Kowalski listened to the phone ring once, twice, three times before Rico picked up.

"'eah?" the reclusive penguin growled into the phone.

"Anthony's got the tape," Kowalski replied, "His secretary just told me he said he could be reached between 2150 and 2210 at his hotel, 2300 and 2315 at the Copacabana, the between 2359 and 1000 at an address – abandoned – in the Bronx. I assume that's where he's meeting his contact. Still, for good measure I want you to follow him from his hotel."

"A'right." Rico replied and as Kowalski had nothing further to add, hung up. As Kowalski replaced the phone, he noticed Marlene's troubled expression.

"Don't worry, Rico will follow my instructions to the letter."

"I just feel like it's too complicated." She replied with more than a little nervousness. Her face showed it too, her skin was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes, "Like the smallest slip up could ruin everything."

"Nothing can go wrong." Kowalski replied, "I'll go over it again: Rico follows 'Anthony' from the hotel to the Copacabana expecting that he's just there for a drink before he meets his contact at 2359 – one minute to twelve. I've set up Skipper's schedule to follow that order. However, Rico will realize pretty fast when Anthony meets a suspicious looking guy with a press pass that he's meeting the contact an hour early. I've impressed on him how important it is that the contact not so much as see the intel and he'll have no choice but to kill Anthony in the open on the assumption I'll get him off on self-defence or something."

"You will, though?" Marlene asked.

"Of course."

"More like of course not," Van Dorn couldn't help but comment. With Skipper gone, Marlene dead, as like Helga had said he'd undoubtedly kill her sometime in the next few months, and Rico up on a murder charge he'd be the only 'surviving heir'. Still, he'd noticed something he hoped Kowalski hadn't. The whole point of Skipper's childhood training had been to prevent him from going the way of his father. Kowalski no.1 would have failed miserably if he hadn't instructed Skipper that if he was undercover and any of his men attacked him by mistake he was better off blowing the mission and telling them who he was than hoping he could beat them in a fight.

"Won't Skipper tell him who he is?" Marlene asked. Helga snapped something at the monitor in exasperation.

"That's a good point." Kowalski replied in a tone which told Van Dorn in so many words that he'd known that from the start and was once again only trying to make Marlene feel she had a part in it. He could still imagine it gauled the scientist to have to pretend to have neglegted to think of something but he didn't show it.

"Skipper?" he inquired, picking up the phone, "'s Kowalski. Somebody leaked that Jason Anthony might have something to do with the Penguins besides attacking them. Rico's going to stage something to show off your bravery…" he outlined to Skipper that he was going to pretend that the news the reporter had something on them and was giving it to Anthony had been leaked to the Penguins and that Rico was going to try to stop him getting it, "…Don't worry, the gun's loaded with blanks… Marlene? I think she's at Roger's. That reminds me, Anthony doesn't carry a gun, your fight with Rico is going to be your reason to get a permit… No, you might be tempted to use it, you'll be fine unarmed."

"And so he won't realize until the very last second." Marlene mused following the termination of the call, "I'm pretty sure he'll work it out, though, even with so little time."

* * *

Rico set off from the hotel where he'd found his quarry inquiring if there was any mail for him and followed him down to the subway. Van Dorn hopped from the camera carried by his own agent, an up and coming police lieutenant who'd volunteered to help out on his day off, to the various feeds the creator of the network had placed in various stations.

It would take between two and three minutes to make the call and convince Rockgut. He'd go with three. The HQ was on the opposite side of town to the Copacabana and it would take them somewhere in the ball park of half an hour to get there. He'd say Skipper would be able to hold his own three minutes because Rico would probably try to get him outside before he killed him instead of just shooting him then and there. It was now 2215, "I'd have to call him at 10.27 at the latest, 33 minutes before eleven." He explained to Helga despite the fact she'd undoubtedly worked it out too. He wanted to check his math. One minute late could possibly be life or death if it wasn't a trap.

"And you're going to wait until 2227 before you call him?" Helga countered sceptically.

"I'm going to spend my twelve minutes trying to find another way other than calling Rockgut." Van Dorn countered. His position was no longer a simple one. He wasn't convinced it wasn't a trap, but it was a higher chance than he could ignore, "Where do you think you're going?" Van Dorn called after her after noticing the shuffling sound of Helga grabbing her coat.

"I'm not standing by and watching a murder happen." She replied curtly.

"And you think they'll believe _you_?" Van Dorn countered.

"When I tell them where you are they will!"

"When you tell them where I am they'll come after me and forget all about Skipper. You can go home if you're scared, but that's all you're gonna go and I'll make sure of it." Helga nodded. Now she was a perfect example of how he felt about the whole situation: he'd confided a lot of things to her he'd never told anyone else but he still had her followed every second of the day and her communications monitored.

"I'll go home, then." She replied. Van Dorn shrugged as if he really didn't care and sent a message over to a contact of his that Helga Bluestone was going out. Helga slammed the door behind her he went back to the monitors, glancing briefly at the clock beforehand. 2217.

* * *

tip-tip-tip-tap tap-tip-tip, Tap-tip tap-tap-tap tap, tap-tip-tip-tip tip-tip-tap tap-tip-tap-tap tip-tip tap-tip tap-tap-tip… that tapping sound brought his attention back to Kowalski. The scientist didn't look nervous or bored, he looked completely calm, a faint smile in his vaguely interested expression. Van Dorn had found he wasn't one to stay in character when Marlene wasn't looking as if it was a strain to put on a façade. Still, that tapping only came about one of three times, and if it wasn't two of them…

"Dammit, no!" the soft cry escaped his lips before he'd thought better of it though he was alone now so it didn't really matter. Kowalski was going to kill her, and there wasn't a thing he could do but watch. Still, Kowalski just sat there, dragging out Van Dorn's agony. The toneless piano had stopped and he was now seemingly deep in thought almost enjoying Van Dorn's pain too, though he couldn't see it. Van Dorn could only imagine what the first Private had watched time and time again before he left the team. The only reason he could fathom why he'd come back was out of a similar Stockholm syndrome tinted love like Marlene's.

Kowalski stood up as Marlene sat down. Van Dorn could almost see in the way he looked at her "Strangle? No, done that. Push off balcony? No, Private died from a fall from a great height. Stab, shoot? Too crude…" His eye caught on her empty glass.

"I was just about to grab something I was working on," the mad scientist's version of knitting, "do you want me to pour you another glass?"

"Sure, I guess I'll need it." She replied, passing it to him as he walked past. There was a point of reference as to how far someone like Kowalski had gone. Even someone being manipulated, truly believing they are backed into a corner and killing for a good cause, struggles to keep their nerve in check.

Kowalski took the glass and walked into the kitchen. Van Dorn switched the view and there he was calmly deciding which of the chemicals he regularly carried in his pocket with poisonous properties he should use. Van Dorn recognised the majority of them and oddly enough found he and Kowalski had the seemed to have the same taste in such things as the scientist chose a fast acting, highly deadly compound. Kowalski swilled the wine till the tasteless powder had completely dissolved, grabbed the pieces for some kind of sciency do-dad and returned the living room.

"Here." He placed the glass before her and Marlene thanked him, taking up the glass. Van Dorn's heart made a jump for Mars.

The wail of a police siren when buy past the window, she turned a paler shade and put the glass down. Kowalski was clearly annoyed at this and the tapping resumed.

"They're not after us," Kowalski reassured, "They wouldn't warn types like me with a siren unless they _thought_ they had the whole building surrounded." And there was the real Kowalski. Tip-tap-tap-tip tip-tap-tip-tip tip-tap tap-tip, tap-tip-tip-tip … He certainly lacked the finesse and the artistry of the first, though. Aside from the plan he'd stolen, they were just genaric senseless murders.

"Yeah." Marlene replied dully and she raised the glass to her lips. As she took one small sip Kowalski's whole demeanour flickered. She set the glass down but Van Dorn could see her frown. Then that frown turned into a headache, "I feel kinda funny…"

Her form fell limp to the side, almost like one of those ballet exercises, her arms following perfect curves by sheer fluke or by some kind of her grace left over from life. Kowalski apparently thought that too, and he set her semi upright again as if she were still merely relaxing on the couch with that sculptural elegance, but he left her eyes open to stare emptily forever.

He smiled at his work like an artist having just signed his name on a finished masterpiece and he set about wiping his prints off the glass and the bottle and replacing them with hers adding the small vial of poison beside them. Whenever they found her Kowalski would admit how she was staying at his – due to a threat against Skipper – when she'd come across that letter. He put it on the table with a few drops of water that looked like tear stains and water-smudged her mascara. After reading the letter she realized what Skipper had been doing and she hadn't been able to take it. Kowalski's apartment was full of poisons, so it was naturally the obvious method as if she'd been at home it would have been a gun.

It was then at 2221 that ex-agent Van Dorn knew it was really going to happen. It wasn't a trap or an elaborate game, everyone who'd died really had and Helga was right, it was all on him, but his focus was on Skipper. He remembered the strange little ten year old of 1962, and how he'd given the kid a fate worse than death to save him from just that. He also remembered the headstrong, but learning, young man he'd grown up to be despite this. He'd been so proud of him.

He slowly punched in the numbers for Rockgut's private line. It wasn't picked up immediately, if it had he would have been wary, but the gruff "Hello?" following several seconds wait sounded just like a normal day for skipper's inexperienced boss.

"Paranoid Jr, this is Johnny," Van Dorn spoke with unmistakable reluctance. A quick glance at the monitor where Skipper was being dutifully followed by Rico through the streets of Manhattan got rid of this, "Rico is going to kill Jason Anthony AKA Skipper at 2300 at the Copacabana tonight." He rattled off, "It's not Rico's fault though, Kowalski set him up and I can prove it. If you stop by his apartment you'll see he poisoned Marlene as well."

"That's real funny," Rockgut laughed though it was more of a scoff, "We fell for you twice, if you think we're just going to charge out there and arrest our best agents for murdering each other you've been in hiding too long."

"Boy who cried wolf and all that, I get it!" Van Dorn replied his tone losing its calm as he watched the seconds hand tick around the clock slowly getting closer to 2227, "Look, would I give up my location if I wasn't serious?"

"What's giving up your location sacrificing? This Department doesn't frame people or use torture so you've still got your innocence until proven guilty."

Van Dorn paused, though he knew he should just throw himself into it. It would be more painless.

"I framed Lola Knight," he spoke the words flowing off his tongue before he could stop them, "I paid off the witnesses in her building to keep quiet. I paid off the guard to have him testify the bribe Lola had paid him four days before to see Kowalski was on the day of the murder. I'd bought the guns from the evidence locker as a favour for Archie – he'd helped me out of a spot a year ago – I didn't know what they were for at the time but after I found out I called some favours of my own and had them testify it was Lola. Now get down to the Copacabana and maybe you can catch the kid before he's bleeding out." He hung up before Rockgut could say anything else. He glanced at the monitors then realized he didn't want to know if Rockgut made it or not, at least, he didn't want to _see_ what would happen. He switched off the monitors, in fact he switched off the network and just sat there thinking for the first time in weeks, resigned to his fate. At best he was facing twenty years without parole. But it was worth it if he saved the kid.

* * *

He hadn't noticed the letter though it had been in the centre of his desk the whole time. It was only now the chase was over and he'd slowed down that he noticed what a mess the place was. He was normally the tidy type. Still, he had nothing better to do but read the letter since now he'd confessed the whole thing was over. He'd never be able to prove Lola guilty again. There was no point in running anymore.

"_Johnny,_

_No idea what it was you gave me to test for but turned up positive in the percentage you predicted…"_

He just about tore the note in two but the telephone interrupted his rage.

"What?!" he snapped into the receiver.

"You're never gonna believe this…" The voice on the other end gasped.

"Try me." He prompted when the phone continued to say nothing but unfinished in cohearent sentances.

"It's one of the guards! One of the guards who went off the bridge with Private! I just saw him buying flowers for his girl!" There was a pause as the contact apparently expected him to be surprised. He wasn't. The only question was how they'd done it with him watching all the time. And even as he glared at the letter, that started to piece together too.

**Ok, Van Dorn's definitely in trouble. Unfortunately I'm coming up to his inevitable confrontation with skipper and I've got no idea what I'm going to do wih him. What do you think: blaze of glory, reluctant agreement to pay for his crimes or will he escape to scheme another day against Lola Knight? What do you think of him as a kind of anti-1st Kowalski? I have to say it would be pretty interesting if the two teamed up against skipper somehow. **

**Also on the topic of the various cold cases brought up. I'm thinking of just keeping them as mysteries (or dealing with them in a later story) but that might be a bit unfair.**


	23. Explanation

If he'd been desperate to deny they'd been real before he was now obsessed with doing quite the opposite. He'd just confessed to framing Lola Knight as well as the fact he'd procured the weapons for Archie – they could prove it when they tested the gun found in Rico's and traced it back to him, Rico's had been damaged beyond fast repair and he'd had to substitute his own. It would only be worth all that if he'd saved Skipper's life.

It still, despite the call and the letter, it sounded too fantastic to be true. He hoped it wasn't. Perhaps the contact had been mistaken, and the lab test had been one of those few in a million that went wrong for whatever reason? Coincidences did happen, right? Still, one thing stuck in his mind: that tapping and those lines Skipper would draw on the paper. At the time he'd found himself recognising them as familiar, like something he hadn't heard in a long time.

He switched on the monitor again inserting one of the tapes into the machine and rewinding back to one of the conversations where the tapping had been most prominent:

_"Who was it?" Skipper asked on screen as Kowalski sat down…_

And there was the tapping. On a hunch Van Dorn grabbed a note pad taking down the sounds, noticing the expert differentiation between the long and the short:

.- -/-. - .. -. -./- -/- . . -/... . .-.

He was rusty, which was why he hadn't recognised it as Morse code immediately; the long 'taps' being dashes and the short 'tips' dots – and Kowalski signalled at million miles an hour – but now he had it on paper he quickly translated it:

"Am going to meet her."

Suspicious, but part of him said it wasn't conclusive evidence. After all, why wouldn't someone trying to take over a city with a predilection towards the paranoid discuss his secrets in code? Van Dorn continued playing the tape.

_"Only Doris." Kowalski answered, "She wants me to buy milk on the way back."_

_"Don't they always," Skipper replied_

_... _

_"I've been careful to make sure we avoided disrupting the average Joe," Kowalski countered_

And there it was again:

.../ ... .- -.- .../... ./- - - -.-/- .- -./... .- - .-. .-.. . or: "H says he took his own sample." 'H' could only mean Helga Bluestone who'd probably relayed the message that he'd taken one of his own blood samples instead of the pre prepared ones at headquarters before he decided to 'rescue' her. That was obvious in hindsight and he moved on to the next concentration of tapping sounds.

- -. / - .. - . / .-.. .. -. . / -. - .- = "on time line now." In the context of the previous message, that was suspicious beyond any doubt. It was only half a conversation, though he knew what the other half was in: Skipper's squares and rectangles, rectangles being dots and squares dashes, or at least that was how it made sense on the only opportunity where when Skipper revealed his reply to Kowalski it was also caught on camera. That came out as -. - or 'go'.

There was more of it too. Right before Marlene was 'poisoned' he decoded Kowalski's messages as: "VD not buying" and "Plan B."

He didn't waste any time slamming his fist into the desk or any other expression of anger that would have been more suitable for the other two 'Skippers'. No, he'd made the conscious decision years ago to take a hint or two from Kowalski's ruthless efficiency. Thus he stood up walking briskly towards a seemingly blank wall that slid effortlessly open with a touch. They'd be combing the city for him once they'd realized he'd skipped out through the escape tunnel system then blown the whole thing behind him to hide his trail – he could already hear the sounds of sirens up the drive. There was only one place he could think to hide.

* * *

"Ah fresh air!" Blowhole grinned finally being allowed out on the street for the first time since his 'death'. He was careful not to look at Kowalski, though. Skipper was still in his healthy denial and the two of them were happy to keep it that way. It was that very attitude of simply not wanting to know that had allowed them to act out their part of the plan giving skipper only the knowledge that he would turn up in the morgue seemingly strangled and that by no means was anyone to attempt an autopsy.

"It is indeed wonderful to see the outside world." Private concurred.

"Yeah yeah, the Concrete Jungle's scenic and we've all missed it," Skipper called with one foot in the car, Rico already at the wheel, "We've got masterminds to catch."

"You said you'd give me a thirty minute head start!" Blowhole protested.

"Not you, you've been outdone." Skipper replied. Blowhole would have preferred him to say he was after him than to bruise his pride like that. Still, he didn't get long to remark any of the sort as they'd already raced off with Skipper to capture the more threatening foe.

* * *

"See! I told you Morse code was too obvious!" Kowalski boasted on sighting the translations of their messages that had clearly tipped the renegade agent off, "I said we should have used a Caesar shift cipher, then converted it a=1 etc. and then translated it to hexadecimal and then communicated the numbers using…"

"It's over, Kowalski," Skipper grumbled.

"…And then…" Seemingly, months playing a humanity devoid sociopath had sent him dramatically to the polar opposite side.

"Enough already!" Skipper snapped, "One more word about the code and it's going to be dollars not dimes that go in the bragging jar." It took Kowalski a few seconds to do the math as to how much that would cost him per month, but on reaching a six digit number, the desired result was acquired, "Right," Skipper glanced in the direction of K'walski's book of contingencies and frowned in thought for a few seconds, "I know where he's gone." He finally spoke. Kowalski whispered something to Private.

"Clearly he's gone to Consolidated Amalgamated if it's an 87% chance he's working from my – sorry, K'walski's – predecessor's notes." The kid reported, "Since that would be hiding in the most obvious place…"

"Nope." Skipper countered with a smirk that wiped away the scientist's, "What was K'walski's number one rule?"

"A'ways be th' sma'tist guy 'n th'e room?" Rico attempted to answer as Skipper marched them back to the car.

"Nope, always take the second most obvious," Skipper replied, "Van Dorn's at the HQ. Our one." But he wasn't there either and Skipper was forced to confess that he had not simply guessed the master plan but bad seen a scrap of paper with 'HQ' written at the corner. This prompted them to continue on to the only other place of that name.

* * *

Skipper stood, firearm drawn, hugging the door frame before cautiously ducking his head into the room before allowing the rest of his body to follow. He'd search any conceivable hiding place twice before moving on to the next room, the rest of the team checking other doors. With Rockgut's men outside the exits and entrances they worked their way from the very bottom floor upwards, slowly cornering the renegade agent into the top of the building – where it was more offices than weapons labs and cells. Skipper had been relieved to reach Lola's floor and find it empty of anyone but her.

His radio crackled to life almost making him jump such was his focus on finding Van Dorn.

"Skipper, this is Rockhopper," it spoke, "Confirmed sighting of fugitive Van Dorn in Lab 22 before losing radio contact with Agents Clemson and…" what had previously been a slow, detailed hunt became a blur of a chase, rooms flashing by him at a hundred miles an hour as he made a dive for the elevator, punching the button for one floor up where he knew the lab was located.

"'Ey, wai' up!" Rico protested somewhere behind him.

"Then hurry up!" Skipper snapped as the elevator doors shut between them. It was an excruciating wait as the elevator ascended a floor and an agonising length of time before the doors opened. Skipper was already out and running the moment they did.

* * *

Skipper caught Van Dorn's eye for a brief moment, too brief to yell "stop or I'll shoot" or even to think as much before the ex-agent ducked into the nearest room. Skipper cursed when he noticed the sign indicated that it was not just any lab but Kowalski's lab. That, if anything, should have made him wait outside – the room was a dead end – and wait for his team back in the elevator behind him to arrive before engaging the enemy, but the temptation for full frontal assault was too great. Actually, he didn't even get time to think about it before he charged in on impulse.

"I've got it pretty much all worked out:" Van Dorn spoke, "I'd figured it was acting and cooperation from the city morgue from the start, but how'd Private and those guards make it out of the box car? The thing was a metal box; nowhere to hide some kind of hidden harness or parachutes, I checked."

"Was it?" Skipper countered , eying his surroundings. It was a pretty ordinary looking lab by Kowalski's standards, white and steel work surfaces covered by wires and bits of machinery. Still, he was the one standing in front of the door.

"The only thing in there was the gold."

"The gold was hollow, we put the equipment in there and Private just had to get it out," Skipper replied, "The guards had spent two weeks training to pull off the stunt." Van Dorn smiled somewhat sheepishly as if admitting a mere minor miscalculation.

"I oughta be furious at you but I'm just impressed," he spoke, "The stage lost a star when Kowalski went for science, not that you didn't do a good job of playing your father."

"Glad you fell for it," skipper replied tersely, the memory of the near proximity to his mother's being convicted of murder all too present in his mind, "Now surrender," He demanded. Normally he'd continue something along the lines of "I'm hoping you don't, I wanna see how badly I can beat you." But for once he didn't want to fight. He didn't like his chances of winning, something that was just starting to dawn on him. Everyone from Jones to K'walski had praised him on being _almost_ as good as his father. The first Skipper had been _almost_ as good as Rico. The second Skipper, Skipper had been referring to the foe mentally as that, had taken Rico unarmed and with his hands tied – ironically in front of Lola. He was trying to think of something to say instead when Van made the decision for him.

"It was such a brilliant way to commit a murder, so easy and completely fool proof," Van Dorn continued. The two faced each other, neither having made a move yet, like the duellers of the wild west, "It fit perfectly with the whole situation, both now and then," He paused, "So perfectly, don't you think it could have happened just like that, only Lola was less of an innocent victim?" Skipper didn't respond. "I noticed how you played up certain characteristics," he sounded like he was commenting on a play, "Private's fear, Rico's blind obedience – did he object to having to do anything too amoral? - your father's arrogance and complete reliance on Kowalski, but you played the resident mad scientist pretty accurately," Van Dorn's expression darkened, "You should have seen him after he killed Doris – I was sent over to provide backup for a couple of weeks – he could have done a lot more than set up his Skipper."

"There you're wrong," Skipper countered, "We showed you the K'walski you wanted to see. That was nothing like what he was really like, and I oughta know." Van Dorn didn't seem to buy it, "It's not true what I've told most people that I'd never seen him try to kill someone until after what happened at the Copacabana. I just never knew it until then.

"I didn't know who the other guy was really, either. Now I know he was Captain Jones. Kowalski had him cornered with his back literally to the wall and at point-blank range but he couldn't pull the trigger. He hated Jones at that point, more that he was ever annoyed at my father, because he hadn't let him jump. He'd doomed him to this bleak destructive existence with Doris' memory on his conscience – a fate worse than death. Naturally when I asked K'walski told me it was a game with nothing more to it and I believed him," Skipper shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, "Look it up. It's all documented.

"A little closer to home, he gave his life for me. He could have left me to drown; I probably would have left him if our positions were reversed. You know, I think he cared the most out of all of them."

"You're forgetting Private."

"Private set up a whole list of people he was willing to kill to provide me with an honour bound lieutenant." Skipper paused, trying to glean any kind of information from his opponent's expression. He'd made his argument, "How about you just give up? You've got nothing left to fight for?"

A cynical smile appeared on Van Dorn's expression.

"Lola Knight's walking free," he spoke. Skipper noticed he'd slowly been edging his way backwards, his hand going nowhere near his gun in a conspicuous shoulder holster for good reason, something Skipper would have understood if there'd been a window or something. There couldn't even be a passage way, it was a metal table bolted to the floor with just a few buttons and switches, "I've still got getting her justice to fight for." And he made his move. Skipper had been watching his right the whole time which was dangerously –in skipper's opinion –near something of an attack. He should have been watching the left which hit one of the big red buttons on the table. A machine whirred to life and Skipper felt his gun ripped helplessly from his hand before he'd barely blinked. Powerful electro-magnet, of course Kowalski would have one of those.

Skipper wasn't going to cry over spilt milk however as Johnny Van Dorn reached for his own weapon. It was in his hand before Skipper could complete the grab he'd made and something searing hot grazed his ribs, a shot clearly not intended to kill. Skipper didn't notice that, however, and continued to make a second grab as desperate as if his chances were no better than Parkers.

He managed to get a hand on the fire arm and the two struggled over it, each with equal grips and equal potential and skill to back their side. It took every ounce of Skipper's strength to keep the single weapon – he seemed to fight over those a lot, he'd later wonder if he ought to start training specially for such scenarios because he had a tendency to lose them – his knuckles white with effort, the rest of his body backing up all else. That was probably why he didn't notice the slight trend towards the colander plus blender contraption till he was almost on top of it.

* * *

The rest of them charged down the hallway towards the lab after having been delayed with technical difficulties. It was quite clearly the lab because that was the only with the suspicious sounds coming from it. Still, even as they rushed forward, guns in hand, preparing themselves for the worst –possibly another hostage situation with a Skipper starting to lose consciousness – the door opened and the situation was quite the opposite.

"You're late." Skipper grinned, proudly displaying his captive held securely at gun point. He glanced at Kowalski's shocked expression, "What? I slipped up once or twice recently? This is usual for you guys to catch up and I've got the whole situation handled."

"What are you waiting for, that's him!" The captive shouted and Kowalski wondered if all those months of observation and hiding had driven him away from the metaphorical 'rocker' of sanity, "The mind switcher! I'm him and he's me!" the skipper elaborated. Kowalski had to say, excuse was crazy enough that he didn't believe even ex-agent Van Dorn would try to pull it.

"Skipper, I would appreciate it if you would lower your weapon. We'll cover the prisoner," Kowalski spoke, eyeing the two carefully, "Private, go into the lab and check if the mind-swapper has been used."

"Kowalski, this is ridiculous," Skipper protested. If he wasn't Skipper, he certainly did a good job of playing the role. Still, they both seemed a little unsteady on their feet. That made sense if minds really had been swapped, "I'd think you'd know me well enough to know I'm not him."

"It's been used in the last ten minutes, K'walski!" Private reported back from inside the lab. Skipper gave no indication as to how this affected him.

"Well, how do you explain that?" Kowalski prompted carefully.

"The obvious explanation is I'm Skipper!" Van Dorn or Skipper in his body snapped.

"I was saving it for the mackerel barbecue tonight, but if you really want to spoil it: sure we swapped minds," Skipper admitted grudgingly as he would if he was forced to divulge a good story without suspense or build-up, "And I swapped them right back. I guess that's what gave him the idea of trying to pass it off as if I hadn't."

"He seems awfully eager to show off just what he knows about my life." The second Skipper commented.

"Alright," Kowalski interrupted, glanced sideways at the work surface, something catching his eye, then continued, "We'll find out who's who; I've been working on an improved truth serum," He reached across the desk, grabbing a wicked looking syringe. Both men noticeably flinched, both looking genuine. Well that had failed. Kowalski set the needle back down on the desk.

"Of course he'd know that," Skipper's body spoke, "It's in my file."

"When did you take down contingency 4427 and what is contingency 4427?" Private asked, "That's the one in Skippah's notes, not K'walski's." Skipper no.2 - the captive Skipper - Kowalski was using the numbers to decrease bias looked somewhat bewildered at the question but readily quoted:

""_Tactic 4427, for use in the scenario in which you are in need of multiple suspects. _

_Firstly, find someone with plausible motive who often frequents the area/will be there without your intervention, or if the target is a specific person, give them a reason to be there without disclosing any information regarding your identity or the operation. Examples:_

_If you have personal information on the target, make it clear to them that a fabricated identity has it and arrange to have them meet this person at the scene of the proposed area in which they must be present."_ Private nodded, giving away nothing.

"The last thing I wanna remember is K'walski's voice in my head," Skipper no.1 explained, "I recognise it though, it was from my 1964 notes, specifically September."

"It's obvious he's the impostor." Skipper no.2 cut in.

"No," Private countered, "K'walski made one of you memorise those word for word, but you got it wrong. It was "_Ideally _find someone with plausible motive" and "will be there without your intervention _full stop, otherwise _or if your target is a specific person. But then the other Skippah didn't remember at all."

Kowalski looked about ready to arrest the Skipper who appeared to be the one they knew best on the spot but Private shook his head and pulled him aside.

"Van Dorn's studied every inch of Skippah's past and has been watching us this whole time," he whispered to his teammates, "He could know everything Skipper would."

"Wha' can 'e ask 'im tha' ippah won' know?" Rico asked.

"I suppose one of them knows how to escape?" Private asked, "We can lock them in the room and…"

"They'll kill each other."

"'S th' only way." Rico countered.

"I suppose so." Private concurred gloomily, "I guess we can disarm them. What about you, Kowalski?"

"Hm? Me?" Kowalski snapped out of his deep thought, "Yes… just let me ask one more question." He turned back to the two Skippers. He studied them thoroughly, taking so long that it was clearly making all of them uncomfortable. Finally he spoke, "Separate them first." Rico nodded, and corralled Skipper no.2 off into the lab, and the other further down the hall and out of earshot. Kowalski posed the same question to them separately:

"Lola was grazed by a bullet at the Copacabana by accident during your fight with Rico. Describe the gun."

The Skipper who'd appeared with Van Dorn at gunpoint, no.1, struggled. This was an instance where Johnny Van Dorn had not been present and a small detail like the make of gun was difficult to make out from photographs and reports, "It all went by pretty fast. I _was_ fighting for my life," Kowalski could see him thinking. Finally he came to an answer, looking relieved as if he'd discovered the mysterious thread of logic that would generate a convincing reply: he described a .30 calibre black semi-automatic, a prominent scratch along the barrel.

"You seem to know a lot of the details?" Kowalski commented.

"Well, it's the one in the evidence locker," Skipper replied with newfound confidence, "The one in his hand when we found his body, I had plenty of time to study it."

* * *

The Skipper who'd emerged loser of the fight and captive, possessing Johnny Van Dorn's body had more confidence. He described a blue steel "kinda small" colt taken from the team's arsenal.

"Small doesn't seem like Rico's thing, especially with so many other choices available?" Kowalski tried to shake that confidence.

"It was the only one Rico could fit in the hole he'd cut into the bullet proof vest." He replied.

* * *

Kowalski returned to the team, casting a glance at the two Skippers both waiting nervously for the verdict. Buck Rockgut who was waiting with about ten agents to arrest the guilty party looked to Kowalski, "Well?"

"Arrest Van Dorn." Kowalski replied.

"Yeah, we know that, which one is he?" Rockgut prompted.

"They're who they look like they are," Kowalski explained, "You can arrest the one in the lab."

"But he got it right?"

"Exactly."


	24. Therefore

"What?" Rockgut questioned. He didn't get it. What did kowalski mean "exactly"?

"Certainly Skipper was present at the event which would make it plausible he'd know what gun Rico grazed Lola with," Kowalski explained, "but as he said, he was fighting for his life, he wouldn't stop to remember every small he assumed that the weapon found in Rico's hand was the same one, since it had come from the evidence locker.

"But after Van Dorn confessed to having provided the weapons from Archie to give to Private, thus necessitating his going into the evidence locker he would know as Rico was arrested with that gun. He'd also be the only one to know, until I revisited the case this morning, that Rico's original weapon had jammed and so was replaced with his own. Ergo, Van Dorn would be the only one with the correct answer."

Rockgut grinned, the intellectual stuff over and started towards the lab with his men in tow.

"Don't go at him head on, he knows the building…!" Kowalski warned but it was too late.

"_Ex-agent_ Jonathan Van Dorn," Rockgut spoke proudly and the fugitive just looked at him, unsurprised. He'd probably realized his error following a similar train of logic to Kowalski's, "You are under arrest for the murders of Sergeant Cooper, Lloyd Parker, Commissioner McSlade…"

"Believe me, you don't need to tell me." Van Dorn replied darkly and Kowalski got the feeling that perhaps those names weighed more heavily on his conscience than any sentence ever would on him. Still, he hadn't given up yet, Kowalski could tell, and his eyes carefully surveyed the room. The lab was one of the few places in the building where possibly no secret passageways existed. He and Van Dorn were once again on the same page there.

Suddenly the ex agent dived to the side and Kowalski caught sight of a prototype explosive he was working on before it blasted to pieces one of the support columns, sending a gigantic slab of subterranean concrete ceiling crashing down through the floor and Van Dorn dived behind it. Rockgut naturally continued to fire despite the fact there was three feet of concrete between them. Skipper attempted to resume chase, but Kowalski held him back in time to save him from a second explosion that sent a torrent of rubble and office furniture from the floor above down towards the floor, blocking the previous hole. Skipper looked about ready to knock down another wall.

"You can't leave that guy alone for two minutes!" Skipper snapped as he turned back around to take the elevator down to the floor below, "I swear, we're going to have to keep him comatose to hold him in one place!"

"Technically, that would be unethical because…"

"Not now, Kowalski!"

* * *

Lola hadn't been able to help but scream as a chunk of the ceiling from the floor above crashed down into her cell. She'd tried to run, but the collapse hadn't done a thing to damage the bars and as the second explosion thundered above her and the portion of the hole in the ceiling that covered her cell rained rubble she was caught under it.

As the dust began to clear she tried to stand up now the cell bars were contorted out of use, coughing, but she was held down by a jab of pain shooting through her leg. The steady sound that had been in the background the whole time, that she now recognized as footsteps stopped. Lola was about to call for help when she realized just who had heard her cries muffled by Rockgut shouting upstairs. Immediately she clamped a dust covered hand over her mouth, ducking her head down, which was luckily camouflaged by the debris. She waited for Van Dorn to turn around and continue on his way and he did, Lola silencing a sigh of relief as the footsteps resumed.

The rubble slide wasn't something that switched on and off like a light switch and there was still a trickle of debris of relatively small sizes as the larger slabs above shifted and groaned in their new positions. It was one of these somewhat larger pieces that landed on the jagged bit of metal cabinet that pinned Lola's leg down and she felt like the limb was being severed from her body. She shut her eyes tight but a small cry of pain still escaped her lips. Van Dorn turned around and this time his eyes locked on her without a doubt. Briskly, but deliberately he walked back to her and Lola was well aware of the knife he'd taken from the lab in his hand.

He stopped a few feet from her. Lola knew what was coming next, and at least the way he saw thing she wasn't going to get a quick way out. There was a scraping sound next to her, then she felt the weight lifted from her leg. She scrambled out from under it as the rubble thumped back to the floor. Van Dorn tossed the makeshift crowbar aside and grabbed Lola by her shoulder, getting her to her feet.

"What floor is this?" He demanded. Lola tried to get away, but her ankle couldn't take any weight and she just stumbled backwards into a wall, "Well?"

"Minus seventh, detention block." She replied nervously.

"Damn."

"What?" She asked. He was supposed to know the building inside out.

"They've changed things since I was here last," he replied, "Put your weight on me." He didn't seem to want to kill her yet, but Lola didn't want to push her luck. She tentatively slung her arm over his shoulder, using him as a crutch, "I'm guessing you know the way out."

"Yeah, a couple of them." She replied. She'd been here a while thanks to him, "That way." She pointed straight ahead and Van Dorn started off at a pace Lola could only just keep up with. As she walked, however, the pain started to dull from sharp stabs to a dull ache and she could take gradually more of her own weight.

"What's wrong, doll, this isn't your first time as a hostage," Van Dorn spoke after they'd gone through a few corridors. It was only then Lola noticed she was trembling slightly, "Guilty conscience?"

"Anyone would be freaked out if the guy holding the knife was probably gonna kill them at the other end." Lola replied harshly. Van Dorn only laughed.

"You've got no worries there, I want you to face justice, not a quiet bullet," He replied, "I've a vigilante, according to junior, not judge jury and executioner," He added in explanation, "I've still got respect for due process, just sometimes cases slip through the cracks, that's all."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Lola replied cynically. Van Dorn also seemed to find this funny.

"You know, you remind me of a girl I met once. She was almost as deadly."

"Well you don't remind me a bit of Tony," She replied, "Or Will. I don't know what they're on about calling you Skipper." Surprisingly, he took the comment the opposite way she'd hoped he would.

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear someone say that." He replied. Lola could kinda get where he was coming from. Skipper had said similar things about being stuck in his family's shadow, everyone always being too busy seeing him as a mini version of his father. Just like everyone had been too busy watching Skipper to notice Tony.

"Mom, move!" She heard Skipper shout behind her and Van Dorn shoved her around the corner, following soon after himself. Trigger happy Rico provided a volley of shots that encouraged Lola to master her pain and break into a run.

She wasn't sure how far or where they'd been running but the wide concrete passage ways were turning into small poorly lit service tunnels, some small enough Lola had to crouch to fit through them. She'd taken a few embarrassing knocks to the head because of this.

Her ankle gave way and she stumbled to the floor. Van Dorn began to pull her up, but shoved her back as she made a grab for his belt which contained his knife – his only weapon after the penguins had disarmed him – and other miscellaneous belongings left over from his days on the right side of the law.

"Don't even try it, lady." Van Dorn snapped intimidatingly. He looked almost as if she'd betrayed some kind of silent trust. Lola just rolled her eyes.

"I'm not crazy like that Bluestone character, I wasn't going to stab myself in the shoulder to slow him down," Lola scoffed, misunderstanding Van Dorn's concern. His conclusion had been that she would use the knife to attack an entirely different person, namely, him, "I was after the handcuffs." Before he could react she twisted herself out of his grip and grabbed them from his belt, locking her arm onto the wall in such a position that she blocked the entire passage way and couldn't be moved without severing the chain, "Now get going, Skipper's not far behind you." Van Dorn looked at her as if she'd completely lost it, but wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, "Turn left and keep going till you see the exit signs, then you'll be in familiar territory."

* * *

"Rico, don't shoot!" Skipper ordered, recognising the shadow that blocked the path faster than Skipper did. He rushed forward, realizing that how Lola was chained in place, she was blocking the entire passage, "Private, cut her loose." He ordered, all the while calculating him long the delay would hold them up and how much closer to escaping Van Dorn would have gotten.

"Did you see where he went?" Kowalski questioned on observing that the path forked behind her.

"Right." She replied as Private fiddled with the locks, being as careful as he could not to pinch her wrists, "Hurry, you might catch up with him."

"Thanks," Skipper replied, all but pushing her aside in his enthusiasm to head down the right fork. Lola smiled, hoping Skipper wouldn't realize he'd gone the wrong way for at least a few minutes.

"Wait a minute," Kowalski protested and Lola felt like she could slap him, "Considering his manipulative methods in the past, it is probable that he made it clear to Lola that he was going right, but actually went left. Her back would have been to him, after all."

* * *

The 'acid room' was a rectangular concrete room on floor minus seven with a eight foot by eight foot pool of bubbling acid in the center. Surprise surprise. Rockgut had had it installed in response to hints that the Red Squirrel – whom Skipper wasn't entirely certain actually existed – was developing a device to reconstruct the ashes left by burning vital documents. Either way, acid did make short work of anything they wouldn't want to fall into enemy hands, as well as other items and bodies that the department never wanted to be found. Aside from that, the room was also a water and provisions storage area in case they ever came under siege by space squids. That was how the room had earned its other nickname, the 'paranoid room'.

It was in front of this bubbling caldron that they cornered the second Skipper, Rockgut and his men standing at one exit and Skipper and the penguins blocking the way he'd come. He stood looking from one party to the other like a mouse caught between two cats. And then he seemed to relax. The knife embedded itself in the wall a unthreatening distance from Skipper.

"Well, I made a good try at it," he shrugged in response to the puzzled glances he was getting from skipper, "But I suppose you've got me fair and square."

"Didn't think you were a quitter." Skipper commented, sensing another trap. He didn't take his eyes off the other Skipper one second, and he didn't intend to until after… after, well, whatever it was they'd work out to do with him. They'd reached another K'walski, hadn't they? They'd gone to all this trouble to catch him and they didn't know what they could do with him.

"I'm usually not," he replied, "I guess I'm tired of running, always having to look behind me. McSlade, Cooper," He glanced briefly at Private, "Kowalski and Rico, the original ones…"

"What?" Skipper frowned. He'd known the other names, but did Van Dorn seriously feel guilty about providing murder weapons?

_"I_ killed them, not Private," Van Dorn elaborated calmly, "I realized he wasn't going to do it so I knocked him out and shot the two of them, then positioned the bodies to make it look like they shot each other. How else could you stop men like them? What I really feel guilty about is that I stood by and watched Private worry himself sick and the old director get fired…"

"Why don't you save this for the jury?" Skipper snapped. He didn't understand it but he suddenly felt angry. Like Van Dorn had just confessed to killing someone he cared about deeply.

"I think I'd better tell you now," Van Dorn countered, "because I'm probably not going to reach one."

With the elegance of a diver he threw himself over the flimsy chain barrier that cordoned off the acid tank.

"Shoot the tanks!" Kowalski shouted and Rico complied almost immediately. Water from the floor to ceiling barrels flooded the room neutralizing the acid while at the same time the scientist activated the emergency draining protocols. Peering into the diluted pool, all Skipper could see what a piece of blue fabric, drifting like a ghost in the acidic water.

"I suppose the thought of being caught was just too much for him." Private muttered as if it were some kind of epitaph.

"Don't be so gloomy." Skipper dismissed, "Kowalski, where does this thing drain out to?"

"The east river." Kowalski replied.

"Well go pick him up there," Skipper commanded the stunned scientist, "There were three ways out of the room: the two doors, we had those covered, and the drainage pipes." Kowalski scowled like his greatest discovery had been disproven, "And what do you think he'd know you'd do if he tried to jump in the acid pool."

"Drain it." Kowalski grimaced.


	25. The End

"Funny, my running and everything." Van Dorn spoke, looking about as relaxed as Rockgut was strung tighter than a piano, "After it was over with Lola, I mean, I didn't need to run."

"Lemme guess," Rockgut spoke with an added glare and a sarcastic tone, "You know you were destined to be arrested from the start. Predicted everything."

"No, prediction's not my kinda thing – I'm not that good," Van Dorn replied modestly, "No, I mean, it's fine if I'm arrested."

"Don't tell me you're going to escape…?"

"You kidding me?" Van Dorn scoffed, "I figure if I move a finger alarms will go off and the room will fill up with armed guards." His tone was more of a joking one, but the expression on Rockgut's face only amused him more, "That really would happen?"

"Possibly."

"What I mean is," he continued, doubling his efforts to keep as still as possible, "no jury will ever convict me." Rockgut had always had his suspicions, but this certainly seemed a sign that the second Skipper had gone round the bend.

"Murders of Commissioner McSlade, Rico, Kowalski, kidnapping of Timothy 'Private' Jones, breaking and entering at Consolidated Amalgamated – you killed a cop there – murder of Lloyd Parker, kidnapping of William Grant AKA Skipper," Rockgut rolled off, "I suppose you think people 'll be sympathetic to those since they were either part of your 'quest for justice' or like the first three, deserved it, but what's going to hang you is framing an innocent widow who'd already had a tough enough time."

"I don't think so. I think it's pretty clear that she killed her husband. Means, motive and opportunity."

"Do you think _anyone_ would blame the girl for killing _him_," Rockgut countered, "They'd give her an award for it."

"A) bumping off Skipper no.1 left them with Kowalski – they were better off under the old order," Van Dorn argued, "and B) you're forgetting the romance element. Already the story of the Penguins is pretty glamorized, but bring in the double and life they're hooked. Then explain that Lola only got the opportunity to kill him because he was wounded trying to protect her." Rockgut's permanent scowl tightened further. Unfortunately, the ex-agent was completely sane and had a point: it was a romantic tale, and stabbing a wounded man in the back doesn't sound sympathetic in any situation.

"You just keep telling yourself that." Rockgut grumbled as if he considered the statement no threat but it was clear to both sides that it was just words.

"Lola's the one who oughta be on trial," was the last retort spoken as they moved to transport him to Hoboken; now they had his records they knew which prisons he knew backwards and which he didn't, and Hoboken was surprisingly one of the blueprints he'd missed, "Save yourself _and your career_ the embarrassment and make it that way." His career? He'd already staked it all on Van Dorn not being released.

He waited a few minutes in his office though he knew he had a meeting soon, doing something he didn't do much of: thinking. He was stuck. That one conversation had thrown it all for him and there was only one thing he could do to make it turn out his way. That method was ugly, though, even by his cynical conscience.

"Excuse me, sir?" Private approached him tentatively as he left his office to make the arrangements. The boy's eyes blue eyes were wide with a kind of pleading puppy dog expression. Cuteness didn't work on him, and he told the boy as much, "I hope you don't get the impression I was trying to coerce you or something," Private automatically apologised, "I'm just rather nervous right now."

"No kidding." He grumbled humourlessly. Private was unfazed.

"You aren't really going to do it, are you?" Private asked.

"Do what?"

"Kill him." Rockgut paused, checking around for hidden microphones. If somebody recorded this, he was going to have a lot of awkward questions to answer.

"Yes." Those big blue eyes widened further with naive outrage, "Well otherwise we've gotta lock him up, which is pretty much the same thing. I know those types, cupcake, he's going to make a break for it first chance he gets and someone's gonna shoot him doing it." He shrugged, "My way, at least there's no chance of anyone else getting caught in the crossfire." Private was clearly not convinced, but didn't interrupt him, instead opting for the silent treatment. He _was not _susceptible to cuteness! "He's lost his honour and dignity, his conscience and peace of mind, he's lost his job – that was his life, he never married or anything," Rockgut added trying to back up his point, "It's not like he's got anything to live for; he's put it all on getting Lola arrested, made it an obsession." Private just nodded quietly, guilting him out further. He grimaced, then remembered the odd kind of fascination Private had displayed whilst on the hunt for the first Kowalski, "And Kowalski, he killed him too." Private shook his head.

"No he didn't," Private replied, "If that's what you're judging him by."

"Of course he did!"

"He confessed to protect me, on the off chance the acid trick went the wrong way," Private explained quietly, "I remember, you know. All of it, and he didn't kill them. All he did was provide the weapons, and even then he didn't know what they were for."

"Yeah, then who did?" the superior demanded.

"A person on our team," Private answered in that same quiet tone and suddenly the boy seemed so much older, almost ancient. Especially his eyes. Suddenly they seemed like they could see through him into his heart and mind and the same for everyone around him. Rockgut wasn't sure he'd ever call him 'kid' again after seeing that expression, "a person who's actions I believe were completely justified so I shan't say who."

Rockgut was stunned for a few seconds as those wise eyes looked up at his. Suddenly it didn't seem like such a good idea to arrange a quiet accident for Johnny Van Dorn. Then he frowned. What the hell was he doing taking orders from a kid?

"Well if you won't say," He snapped, turning on his heel, not daring to look back into those eyes, "then it was Johnny Van Dorn."

* * *

The Copacabana was an atmosphere like few others, and Skipper had had his fair share of world travel. It really wasn't anything materially special, since on that front there was no difference between it and their competitors: it was Julian. Seemingly, if one partied as much as he did, it would be quickly refined to an art form. As much as Skipper found Julian infuriating, he knew how to throw one hell of a party, and he did it every night of the week. He just hoped they never became neighbours.

"I like her." Lola Knight commented, "That Marlene girl, she's got a good head on her shoulders, if she'd only use it." She set down her drink, glancing over at Skipper with sober eyes, "You know, we don't talk like this much."

"That's why I'm here," Skipper replied in the tone of the dutiful son.

"Well I don't want you here if you're just sitting through this because you feel guilty." The once star of the Copacabana replied. It had become easier, but still as she looked around the place she could almost see the dancers and the club goers and that handsome young bartender squeezing in time between constant orders to wink at her.

"I'm not." He replied.

"You sound like Kowalski when he said we should try to at least be on speaking terms if we were gonna get married," she scoffed and rolled her eyes, "That turned out well."

"I mean it, mom!" Skipper protested and Lola shrugged. Naturally, after this, the conversation lapsed. Though she didn't say anything, Lola seemed to be accusing him of something.

"I was going to let him go," Skipper suddenly spoke, "As long as he wasn't a danger to you, I respected what he was trying to do even if it was misguided. I've been in his shoes, only I've been lucky enough to be right. But he's gone too far now… Maybe if he's ready after a few years we can 'discover' some new evidence that lets him out."

"That wasn't what I was thinking." Lola countered, "Was that what was on your mind?" Skipper didn't answer that one.

"Sorry."

"Don't say sorry, unless guessing wrong is a crime," she sighed, "I guess it's bad luck or my fault but I always feel like the world's about to cave in on someone I care about. I haven't got any crazy commando skills though, so all I can do is sit and watch." Surprisingly, Skipper smiled.

"I wasn't in any danger." He explained.

"You were stepping close to the whatsit Kowalski called it? The 'metaphorical abyss'?" She countered sternly, as mothers would. If she'd had her way this would have been the tone she'd have used when her little boy stayed out after twelve, "It turned out well, granted, but it might not have." Skipper's expression only brightened more, then became slightly apologetic.

"I guess I should have told you," he spoke, "but I was never making any of those decisions. Sure, I got to carry the money, but I never decided where it went or what I bought with it."

"Kowalski did?" She scoffed, "it doesn't matter who it is," she spoke bitterly, "Anyone can be corrupted."

"Oh we didn't trust the Penguins to any _human_," Skipper explained, "Kowalski set up his computer to do it. It would relay instructions to Rockgut, who would tap it out to me whenever he could make an excuse to turn up at the HQ. One false move on our part – and they were all watching us and feeding it into the computer – and the whole thing would be shut down and there wouldn't be a thing we could do about it." A weight seemed to be lifted off Lola's shoulders and she stopped fiddling nervously with her glass. Then something else occurred to her.

"But it's _Kowalski's_ invention," She countered, "Nine out of ten of those malfunction or blow up."

"K'walski's invention, mom," Skipper corrected, "those didn't blow up if he checked his math right, and we double checked it all." Skipper had often wondered if the damage was already done. If he'd been too detached from his mother to ever care about her properly, but seeing the look of relief at his not having been in danger erased any thoughts along this pattern. It wasn't too late.

After this the conversation changed to more pleasant subjects. Soon enough Skipper found himself laughing and joking as if those awkward silences their conversations always consisted of had never existed. They talked for hours, starting the task of making up for lost years.

"If I'd killed Tony like he said," Lola spoke in an almost inaudible tone, tracing scratches in the thirty year old bar, the clubs first customers – VIPs that Julian would invite in early – starting to drift onto the dance floor. She paused as if she wasn't sure she actually wanted to ask the question, but had already started so finished it, "Would it have been so wrong?"

"You'd've killed a man who was willing to give his life for you." Skipper replied as if it were a matter of fact that he disapproved of her questioning.

"But to kill one to save so many others…?"

"You'd have only killed more sending K'walski on his rampage," skipper countered firmly. A dark thought crossed his mind but he quickly shut it up. But it crept back again… "I'm not implying anything, but did you…?"

"Ma'am?" A gruff, unfortunately familiar voice cut in, though there was a kind of shy note to it that was certainly not familiar. The gigantic form of the Rat King towered over the two of them, though if you looked past the abnormal physique, he could be a blushing school child, "I was just wonderin'… um… if you wanna dance?" Lola shot him a hint of a sultry smile, looking up at the man though her thick dark eyelashes. Suddenly it hit Skipper like one of those flashbacks in movies where the film would cut to black and white with faded edges. Like a snapshot in time he could almost see her at the Copacabana in 1953, teasing his father, who, like Rat King, owned the criminal half of the city though Rat King did not control it with the same iron grip.

"If you can keep up." She replied offering her hand and allowing herself to be led onto the dance floor. Skipper shook his head with a thoughtful kind of look. Despite everything that had happened, nothing had turned out too badly. He glanced at his watch and winced. Marlene had expected him home an hour ago.

**A bit of a short chapter, but hopefully it filled in any gaps not previously explained. I'm considering writing a forth, though that's in the very early stages of planning. **


End file.
